Out of My Hands
by the.eye.does.not.SEE
Summary: (Currently on hiatus. I sincerely apologize for the delays. I will return as soon as I can.) "All of this was happening too fast. He didn't want a wife. He'd never wanted a wife. But he wanted her." A story based off of, and a precursor to, "A Walk on the Wild Side." Rated M for chapter 10, as well as later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Title**:** Out of My Hands

Author: fais2688/ the. eye. does. not .SEE

Rating: K

Pairing: None. (Yet.)

Universe Note: I know stories like this can go very cheesy _very _easily. I tried, I really tried not to let that happen with the story. If it is taken as seriously as I wrote it, I'm hoping that never happens. Please read and enjoy. (And review!)

Do me a kindness…And** please leave **all preconceived notions at the door. Though the characters may have the same names (or variations of names) of the characters we all know and love and hate, the people in my story are not_,_ on all counts, exactly the same at their counterparts in the _Grey's Anatomy_ universe. Thank you.

Story Note: So I'm afraid I may have spoiled you all for the progression of this story with that one-shot I posted before… That happens _very _far in the future. But I guess it's good to know a happy ending is coming? Yes/No? Maybe? I don't know. Sorry for kind of ruining things. I thought of the rest of the story after I'd already written and published that one-shot, though, so I was spoiled too. We're even. :)

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Grey's Anatomy _or _A Song of Ice and Fire._ But I do own my plots and my original characters. I also claim ownership (which I share with the rest of the fandom) of Mark Sloan and Lexie Grey, because, let's be honest, Shonda screwed them up so much that she shouldn't even have the rights anymore. I'll try my best to give them and their relationship the love, respect, and maturity it deserves.

*deep breath* Here we go!

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**Chapter 1:**

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It was a bitter cold winter's day when she heard the gentle knock on her door. Alexandra did not turn from her spot by the window where she had been watching the new snow fall slowly to the ground. She was not at all eager to see who was at the door. She already knew who it was, besides; there were few people who would enter her private room so politely.

She stared down through the thick glass of the window, watching a few common children attempt to catch the icy-cold flakes with their tongues before they fell to the ground. She could hear their high-pitched laughter, even from a floor above, and the deeper, louder accompaniment of men's laughter from a few streets over. She lifted her eyes, watching a couple farmers and stablehands stumble out of the town's tavern and head home. They had drunken grins on their faces, she could see, and though she did not recognize them, she already knew what they were celebrating. What everyone was celebrating. When they began singing and praising the kingdom's military prowess in loud voices, she finally turned away.

She found her father waiting at the door, polite and dignified as ever. His hands were clasped behind his back, and his face was grim. Before he spoke, she already knew his words held bad tidings. And she already knew whom it concerned.

"Leave us, would you?" He murmured softly to the woman tending the fire. "I should like to speak to my daughter alone." The maid, Sarah, nodded immediately, setting down her miniature bellows she'd been using to stoke the fire and curtsying quickly to Thatcher Grey before hastening to the door. She spared a sympathetic look to her mistress as she left, but Alexandra hardly took note of it. Sarah disappeared through the doorway, pulling it quietly shut after her, and then they were alone.

She stared at the brass buttons on her father's coat as he made his way towards her. He moved slowly, and she took the time to study the bronze-colored metals instead of thinking on what she knew already he would struggle to say. She wanted one last moment of peace, and if it had to be about buttons, so be it. The brass was worn, old, even faded in places. Like most all their possessions, it hadn't been replaced or augmented in near five years. Everyone had tried to do their part to help the war effort, even the Greys.

"My dear…" he began softly, meeting her by the window. Thatcher Grey took his daughter's hand in both of his, and she stared at the slight wrinkles on his flesh momentarily. Slowly, she raised her eyes to meet his. She took note of the fact that his gray hair had begun receding more rapidly, and that in some places, he had gone completely bald. Her usually wide and ever-curious brown eyes narrowed. She wondered when it was that her father became an old man, and how she hadn't noticed it when it had happened.

_You'd been too busy becoming old yourself to take notice, _a voice inside her head snapped. _An old, old maid. _The snapping faded to a dull, sorrowful whisper. _And now alone._

"I'm afraid I have bad news."

"Truly?" She wondered. She struggled to smile without a care, yet only pain showed on her face. "I had thought you were bringing me glad tidings, coming in here grim-faced and solemn as you did."

"I had thought feigning otherwise would only wound you more," Thatcher replied calmly. He sighed, looking down. He seemed to remember that he was holding her hand then, and he patted it absently, searching for the right words. "I… I deeply regret that…"

As her father stumbled over his words—the way he did anytime he spoke of anything emotional—Alexandra suddenly wished her sister were here, the elder one, to tell her the truth hard and straight. Death was not a matter to be trifled with or sidestepped, and Meredith knew that; their mother's death had taught them that. Alexandra sighed. But her sister was not here. She was at Lady Carolyn Shepherd's, cavorting around with the woman's only son as she did most days. Her mouth twisted unhappily. _Don't either of them know that there's was a war on?_ _There are men dying and starving in the fields while you two sip wine and flirt over five-course meals._ She wondered, briefly, if Derek ever regretted it—living, holed up safely in his deep woods, while all the others died for him. Living while her own husband-to-be was murdered with sword mace and axe, in the fire and glory of battle.

"…that I have the misfortune to tell you…" Her father's sorrowful voice captured her attention again, though she sorely wished she could ignore him. _I know already, can't you tell?_ She felt like shouting. _Can't you see it on my face?_ "Your betrothed has passed on, my dear. George, he…" Thatcher swallowed. "He has risen to the Mother and Father Above, it can be sure. Gods bless him."

"When?" The word exited her mouth as if from someone else's. She had no feeling in her body anymore, less so in her heart, and none at all in her voice. _He's dead. _Hearing confirmation from another living soul just made it all the more real. She had known, of course, but until now, until it was said _aloud_…

Thatcher grimaced, and Alexandra wondered why he seemed to be dreading this moment even more than initially breaking the news. _Did George die a horrible, gruesome death and Father does not want to upset me by telling me the details? I am a woman, so naturally I must be protected at all times from cold realities. _Her inner sarcasm faded. _Or is it all a lie, and he has deserted or disappeared? But how is that any worse? At least he would be alive. Shamed and ruined, but alive._ She felt her heart soar with hope. _Maybe he is alive yet!_

"At…" Thatcher cleared his throat. "At the Steppes, they have told me. In… In the sixth hour, to hear the officer tell it. He took an… arrow, during the battle. They say it was a quick death. P… Painless."

She felt a crippling chill rush over her, and it had naught to do with the winter weather. _The Steppes. The sixth hour._ She felt like dying herself, or at the very least letting her trembling knees buckle beneath her as they longed to do. _The sixth hour. The last hour. The last battle. _She felt like screaming to the Heavens, cursing the gods above. Her husband-to-be had died what could have only been minutes before the rebels surrendered. _How can the gods be so cruel? _She wondered hatefully. _How can they be so evil and unjust? _From the way her father had stumbled over the word "painless," she knew George's death was anything but. She wondered how much he suffered, and for how long. She wondered if he had thought of her before he died.

"Alexandra? Are you…" Thatcher Grey had just been about to ask if his daughter was alright, but he stopped short. That was not the sort of question that should be asked. He furrowed his brows. He had no idea what question should be asked at a time like this. "Is there… anything I might do to comfort you?"

Alexandra suddenly felt her body turn to stone at the suggestion. _There is naught you can do. There is naught anyone can do. _She drew herself up, straightened her back, and looked her father in the eye. "I do not need comfort, Father," she replied coldly, "for I am not grieving."

Thatcher attempted to sputter through a protest and form a reply. Alexandra did not wait for him to gather his wits before she interrupted.

"I did not know him, Father, or don't you remember? He was my betrothed, but we met only once, for not more than an hour or two. I have no cause to be sad, nor to weep or suffer fainting spells." _I am not weak._

"You have every cause to be sad, _and_ to weep," he replied firmly, having finally found his voice. He knew she was only saying these things to cut herself off from what she felt and appear indestructible. _No doubt she would be weeping on the inside_, he figured, _even if she did not shed a tear where others could see_. "He was to be your future, my girl, and now he is gone. All the plans we made are gone along with him." He looked his daughter in the eye, saddened but serious. "You have no future now, Alexandra."

She had no ammunition with which to argue that point, so she didn't.  
He continued tiredly, obviously worn out. "Your elder sister is to be married," he told her with a sigh, "and your younger has had some offers… I know not what will become of you now—"

"Married?" Alexandra choked out, latching onto that first short phrase and not having time to worry about the second. _Laura? Offers?_ She shook her head, focusing on the most prominent problem. _Meredith is getting married?_ Alexandra had expected a wedding at some point, of course, seeing how much time her older sister spent with that Shepherd man… But no one would dare plan anything of the sort while half of the boys and men in every village were away at war, like to never return. No one would attempt to be happy while those bloodthirsty traitors were raiding and looting and trying to tear the kingdom apart. Who would hold a wedding at such a time?

It took her a minute to remember the war was over now, that the rebels had either bent the knee to the king or been slaughtered for their crimes, and that—for most—this was a happy occasion. She thought back to the drunken men singing happily, and the children playing boisterously in the streets. Only a week ago, those babes would have been grey-faced and dull; those men would have been violent and angry, most likely off at war. No one would have dared make a sound as loud as laughter at that time; no one would have dared try to carry a tune, unless it was a funeral dirge.

"Yes," Thatcher Grey admitted. "Married." He looked suddenly ashamed for having brought it up at a time like this. He had forgotten that she did not yet know. "Meredith informed me almost a week ago." He looked away, to the door, as if hoping the daughter in question might appear and quash all awkwardness between the two. But she was far away, up in the mountains with that that Shepherd boy, his mother, and his seemingly never-ending gaggle of loud and intrusive sisters. Alexandra had only met a few, but she disliked them immediately on sight. Meredith, of course, had fallen right in with them as if they were her own flesh and blood. "The Shepherd heir dropped to one knee the moment he heard the news of the surrender, your sister said. She accepted, of course. It will be official before the end of the year. They are… very eager to move on."

_As is everyone._

Alexandra felt a pang in her chest. Of course. Of _course._ It made sense now. The silence from her sister, the long days away from home, spent at Lady Carolyn's home to the east. No doubt she preferred the cheery to-be-wedded bliss of that household than this one, now so poisoned with grief and loss and ruined futures. She wondered if her sister would ever return; maybe she would stay with Lady Carolyn and her charming son forever.

Meredith was her closest sister, her confidante on all things that would or could need confiding and one of the few women she had always looked up to… but in that moment, Alexandra wouldn't have cared if she never saw her once-beloved sister again.

Thatcher took her silence for not what it was. "My dear," he began softly, touching her cheek with his fingertips. She looked up at him slowly, and he closed his eyes when he saw her brown ones to be dull and lifeless. "You may weep," he encouraged again. _You need not stay strong for me, _his eyes seemed to say."It is alright. Your sister announcing marriage at a time like this is ill-planned, I agree." He sighed. "The boy was your betrothed, and—"

"And nothing!" Alexandra exploded suddenly. Her father almost recoiled at the fire that sparked in her eyes, and the rage in her voice. "He was nothing more than that! _Nothing_!" She was almost screeching now. She hadn't raised her voice so loud to her Father since she'd been a babe at her now-dead mother's breast, and then she couldn't be blamed for the noise. But now she could. Her voice immediately fell, and with it, finally, the tears. Thatcher almost sighed in relief. Tears were something he could handle. Or at least understand. "He was nothing more," she whispered, numb now, as the tears made wet streaks over her pale white face. "For six years I waited, four of them while he was away at war, and I never got what I was promised." Her lips trembled as she looked to her father. "I never got the life I was promised. And now I, I will never get it."

Thatcher Grey gave his daughter a weak, sad smile. He took a step towards her, and then another. Before she knew it, she was collapsing in his arms again, just like she had when she was a girl and Mother had died.

This pain was not so hard to bear as that one. She did not sob, nor cry boisterously as she had those years in the past. She simply let the tears fall and run their course. Her father stroked her hair and murmured soothing words, and she squeezed her eyes shut and took the comfort that was offered her.

"Once your sister is married and settled," he began once her tears had dried and she'd stepped away, "we will find a suitable husband for you."

Alexandra closed her eyes, breathing deeply. She had known this was coming, yet somehow hearing someone—her father, no less—speak the words aloud, her circumstances had become all the more real. All the more dire. She suddenly felt panic grip her chest. She was almost twenty; well on her way to being an old maid. And well past it, in some circles—in the only circles that mattered.

She began doing the sums in her head. She thanked the gods above that it was winter, and the beginning at that. If her father found a fitting bridegroom quickly, as he was apt to do, she had half a year. Alexandra took a breath. Half of a year to grieve. Half of a year to be a girl. Half of a year to be free, to be her own person in as many rights as she was still able to claim before her husband took the rest from her.

Half a year, she had…

And then they would marry her off to some stranger, much like a trader would sell a horse for breeding. It was more permanent with humans, of course, yet no less animalistic, she was sure. Alexandra opened her eyes. Her father was still looking at her expectantly, obviously waiting for her acknowledgement and therefore her wholehearted agreement. She took a breath, and made the only choice she had. "Yes, Father." Her voice shook, and she hated herself for it. _I am stronger than this._

He left then, after pressing a quick kiss to her cheek and squeezing her hand. She let him go. He had more important matters to attend to than simply arguing with his own childish daughter. There was nothing she could say to change his mind anyway, and what did she expect? To stay unmarried for the rest of her life? To be a maiden until she saw her Final Day? To never know a man's touch or kiss or caress, to never bear sons or give birth to daughters? She shook her head. She could do none of that. Those were the makings of horror stories; things her girlhood nurse told her to make her behave when she was feeling unruly. She was a woman, and every woman had a role in life, no matter how small. Hers was to be married, as before… Just not to George.

She returned to the window, but the falling snow no longer held the appeal it had for her before, which had not been much to begin with. She abandoned the pursuit within seconds. When she turned back around, she caught sight of a figure in her doorway. It was her father again. Like before, he knocked softly before crossing the threshold of her rarely private domain.

He cleared his throat softly. "When I entered…" He stared at his daughter from across the room. "You seemed to already know of George's death. Did someone else tell you? One of the girls?"

Alexandra shook her head.

"Then how?" He frowned, confused. "Did you… _feel_ it somehow?"

She didn't respond this time. Instead, she walked to the small wooden desk on the far wall of her room. Thatcher watched as she opened the bottommost drawer. She took a breath, staring at the drawer's contents, before beckoning him over. Her father stood at her shoulder, staring down. The drawer was filled near to the brim with parchment. Some were scrolls, some proper letters, some even had envelopes.

"We wrote to each other after he left for war," she explained softly. "They were always moving, the troops, but he never forgot to write. Even if they were in battle, he wrote. Every week, on the Day of the Gods, he would send me a letter. He used a swift bird, and was never far. The letters arrived not long after he'd writ them."

Thatcher grasped it all immediately. "You did not receive a letter this week."

"No, I did not."

"I'm so sorry, my dear."

"I am too." She shut the drawer hard. The sound of her words and the slam of wood against wood reverberated in the small room. Alexandra closed her eyes, but did not cry. _I am stronger than this, I am. I must be, for my future depends on it. _"I am too."

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Author's Note: The beginning might be a little slow in going, I know, but it will all pick up soon enough. :) I'd love to hear your first impressions of this story! I hope you liked it :) Please leave your thoughts in a review below!

I hope you all in the USA have a great 4th of July; everyone else—have an awesome Wednesday!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

_Author's Note__: Thank you all for your reviews on the last chapter! It means so much that you're interested in this, seeing as it's so different from _Grey's_. This chapter takes place a couple months after the first. I hope you like it. :)_

_Disclaimer__: I own Alexandra._

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The snows had begun melting by mid-morning each day by the time her sister finally returned home. She had claimed that the heavy snows in the mountains had delayed her journey back, but Alexandra knew it had much and more to do with the dark-haired man she now called her husband-to-be than the amount of snow on the roadways. She didn't complain. Even after months away, she was still not overly joyous to see her sister again.

But at least she could feel a little joy. George had been put to rest mere days after her father told her of his death. The funeral had helped some with the grief. She still felt lonely, and a horrible depression threated to crush her at times, but she was slowly realizing that this had more to do with the man she was going to marry than the one she _should've _married. There was no doubt in her mind that he would be a mean ugly brute of a man… one that she would be forced to spend everyday of the rest of her life with.

Her father was away on business now—which had begun booming again, thanks to the end of the war—so she didn't have time to pester him once again about his progress on the matter. She knew there had been none, she knew there would be none for a time, but still… She felt like she was doing something by asking, accomplishing something. She felt like she was making herself known, and taking charge of her future in the smallest way, by simply reminding him from time to time that this decision involved _her _as well as whatever man he was auctioning her off to.

_I am not a horse! _She felt like screaming at times. _I am not to be poked and prodded and deemed fit or unworthy. _Though no one had done this to her yet, she was sure it would happen at some time. The suitors would come, one day, to look at her… _If they come at all._

That last thought was turning her stomach in knots just as one of Lady Carolyn's carriages pulled to a stop in front of the Grey's modest castle. _It is nothing compared to the Shepherd's, no doubt, _she thought as the driver opened the back door. Alexandra had never visited Lady Carolyn Shepherd's home, but she had heard enough awestruck tales from her sister. It was amazingly grand, magnificent, even, if her astonished words rang true.

"But I thought you said you could stay…" Meredith's pouting drew Alexandra's attention. The brunette frowned, trying not to let her mouth twist _too_ unhappily. She hated it when her sister acted like a child. It only ever happened around the Shepherd heir, so Alexandra had taken to hating him too, if from a distance.

"I have to call on a friend, I told you that." He smiled so dotingly on his wife-to-be, Alexandra felt the knots in her stomach tighten uncomfortably as its contents roiled. When she saw a matching look on her sister's face, she really thought she would lose what small breakfast she'd consumed.

"You'll remember what I told you, won't you?"

Derek nodded, his expression very serious. "Of course."

Alexandra put a hand on her stomach to steady it and looked away, even as both Meredith and Derek's eyes flickered to hers. She wished they would keep their honey-sweet declarations of love away from her ears. She was certain they'd already spoken of their feelings towards one another at least five times today; who needed to hear a sixth? _Don't they know I'm grieving?_ She wondered angrily. _Don't they have any respect? _She turned away when they embraced, and tried to concentrate on the last slushy remnants of winter just barely covering the ground. _But which am I grieving really, _she hated to wonder, _my past or my future? They're both lost._

When the driver's reins snapped, and she heard him cluck on his tongue to get the horses moving, she finally looked back. Her sister was walking towards her now, that dreamy smile still covering her face. Alexandra suppressed a sigh as the older woman laced her arm around hers. _She will want a sister-to-sister chat_, Alexandra thought to herself wondered if their younger sister Laura was around, and if she could take up some of Meredith's time. Alexandra did not feel like spending hours deciding on the perfect cut of the sleeves for the wedding gown, or the precise shade of white silk that was needed to accentuate her sister's purity. Alexandra frowned at the thought, glancing to Meredith as they made their way under the arched doorway and let themselves be let inside by one of the younger serving girls. She knew her sister was not a maiden, she had known practically the very night it happened. She wondered, suddenly curious, if her sister was with child, and if that was why the Shepherd boy wanted to rush things. …Or maybe it really was just because the war was over. They'd been dancing around marriage for years, nonetheless. Maybe they didn't need a baby to find the right moment.

"…and I was thinking of having a beaded bodice," Meredith mused, leading the way to the stairs and the girls' rooms. "With lacework all the way down and…" Too late, Alexandra realized that her sister had been talking from the moment they stepped inside. She had lost herself in thought, then, but her sister had been lost in wedding plans and had not even seemed to notice her lack of response. Even as she hurried to catch up and offer her opinion, Alexandra wondered why she was doing so. But then she remembered, just as Laura ran out of a nearby room and nearly tackled her eldest sister in greeting, that they were sisters. _We care about each other. It's just what we do._

She sighed softly to herself. Her mother's death had been hard enough. It left its scars on all of them, even her father, as hard as he tried to hide it. And after George… She closed her eyes, taking a moment of silence amongst all the joy in the house. She opened her eyes to find her sisters both reaching out to pull her into a three-way hug.

She didn't mean to, but she smiled reflexively, and then found herself wrapping her arms around them as well. It had been a long time since she'd hugged either of them. She had missed them, she realized, and missed them even more after she'd retreated into herself these last few months… She hugged little Laura extra tight, knowing it must've been so hard for her to have seen her usually warm and cheerful older sister so distant and melancholy.

"He's so _handsome_, Meredith!"

Meredith grinned at her little sister's praise as they all pulled back. "You've seen him before," she replied, amused at the girl's fervor.

"But that was before! He's your husband-to-be now! Oh…" Laura let out a love-struck sigh, and Alexandra had to put a hand over her mouth so the girl didn't see her laughing. "Have you picked a gown?" She wondered suddenly, her green-brown eyes lighting up. "Do you know what you want your hair to look like?"

Meredith smiled, glancing quickly at Alexandra before hooking her arms around both girls' elbows. "I haven't decided yet. But how about you help me, sister? I could use all the advice you have to offer me."

Laura launched immediately into a long-winded discussion on what a wedding dress should look like; the words flowed so quickly and surely from her little mouth that Alexandra was half-sure she'd memorized what she'd wanted to say. Meredith chimed in here and there, but Alexandra stayed silent, preferring to listen to her sisters chatter with each other as they walked.

By the time they reached Meredith's bedchamber at the far end of the castle, the two had moved onto debating what sort of lace should trim the veil. It took Alexandra a moment to figure out what was off about it all, and then she realized—she was smiling. When Meredith unhooked her arms from her sister's, Alexandra carefully lifted a hand to her own cheek, unsure if this all was real. She blinked, walking over to the window. She could just barely discern her reflection in the window's glass… She was struck by how much she looked like a real girl. A girl who discussed wedding plans as seriously as men discussed war, a girl who danced and sang and laughed and was jolly. A girl who had a bright future and a long, fruitful life ahead of her.

She bit her lip, feeling tears threaten behind her eyes as she wondered when it was that she smiled last. _Long before George died, of that I can be sure._ Her teeth dug into her lower lip so deep they drew blood. She knew she couldn't cry, not now. She couldn't do that to Laura or Meredith or anyone, not anymore. Not now. She took a breath, and found her reflection's eyes in the window glass. She stared into them, drawing herself up to her full height. She took another breath, and another.

When she finally turned, her smile was in place just as before, though a bit more forced. Alexandra joined her sisters on Meredith's bed, nodding along as they looked over a few fabric samples Meredith said she'd received from Derek's sisters.

"I like this one," she murmured, keeping her voice soft so it wouldn't break and holding up a pale white section of silk. She found her sister's green eyes. "What do you think?"

Meredith cocked her head to the side, studying the fabric. She reached out to touch it, running her fingers over it. "It's very nice…"

"I think it would make a beautiful gown," Laura piped up. She nudged her eldest sister with her narrow shoulders. "And I bet _he_ would like it," she giggled, her eyes shining.

"Of course he will like it," Alexandra replied matter-of-factly. "Our sister looks lovely in everything she wears… And, of course by the time he sees her in it, it'll be too late for him to head back to those hills he's so fond of. He'll be stuck with her for life, whether she looks handsome or horrible in her dress."

"Alexandra!" Meredith made to swat her sister, but she dodged, ducking out of the way. Even though she was consumed with laughter, Laura attempted to grab the bride-to-be's hand.

"No fighting!" She called around giggles. "You're getting married, don't fight!"

Alexandra was grinning until she realized that that sentence might not have been directed just at Meredith. _I'm getting married too, _she thought, suddenly feeling all the good cheer leave her in a gust, the way a cold wind blows through a drafty house. The thought left her feeling empty and sick, and nowhere near as joyous as she had been moments ago. But when she looked to her sisters, they were still smiling, and she knew she couldn't let her emotions betray her. So she grabbed another piece of fabric, and held it up to her sister's dancing green eyes, demanding to know whether or not it would match.

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_Author's Note: I'm sorry this chapter was so short; it and chapter three were originally one chapter, but then I decided to split them. I'm hoping to post chapter three soon-wherein you guys get to see your first glimpse of Mark :)_

_Reviews, as always, are sincerely appreciated!_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

_Author's Note: Thank you all so much for your reviews on the last chapter! Especially all you anons—I don't think I've ever had this many before! Thank you all for leaving your thoughts. :)_

_I'm sorry the last chapter was so short. Maybe this one will make up for it? This chapter is set in tandem with the last one, but tells Mark and Derek's side of the day. Please enjoy :)_

_Disclaimer:__ I own Marcus and Alexandra._

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Derek Shepherd grinned as he hopped out of the carriage, staring up at the imposing building before him. It was just as glamorous and grand as it had been the last time he'd been here, since before the war. It looked no less worse for the time spent away. The windows gleamed and the stones looked newly scrubbed. Somehow, he was not surprised. Marcus Sloan was never one to miss a detail, no matter how small. "It's as if you've been untouched by the war," he told his friend, who had been waiting a few feet from the front door, expecting his arrival.

The man grinned. "I've always prided myself on being overly extravagant, you know that. I left this place untouched by the fighting, I expected to return to it the same way." He chuckled. "And I know you're not a soldier, but when going into war, it is never one's intention to bring the enemy back home after the battles are done. You leave them to feed the crows."

"What, you would not even have brought the women?" Derek smiled, crossing the stony ground to meet the other man. "I hear they're fierce with a sword in their hand, no matter if it's made of steel or flesh."

Marcus grinned in reply, clapping his friend on the back in a brief hug. "And very nice to see you as well, Shepherd."

"Happy to know you're really alive, Sloan."

His grin turned to a smirk. "I enjoy escaping death at every chance, you know that. And I so love laughing in triumph at weaker men when they fail."

"Including Death himself."

"Yes, him the most." He grinned again, flashing two rows of straight, white teeth. "And war was such a perfect opportunity, I couldn't miss it." He turned, leading the way inside. "So, how was it," he called over his shoulder as Derek followed him into the lavish and spacious front room, "hiding out in hills and avoiding conflict? Did your sheep all make it home? Is each one accounted for and brought back into the flock?"

Derek frowned. "You know I had other duties."

"As did we all."

Derek chose not to reply to that, so instead he followed his friend in silence, through one doorway and into a small but luxurious sitting room. They each took seats opposite a small low table, on plush green couches. The cushions were filled with duck down feathers, and Derek sank into them with a contended sigh. Comfort was one of many reasons he had made this a personal visit; Mark's was the most comfortable home he knew. He smiled, wondering if it was more lavish than the king's palace. Refreshments had already been set and were waiting on the table; a few glasses of wine and some small, light sandwiches. Marcus dismissed the waiting servants by the door with a flick of his hand, and then they were alone.

"So," he began, passing a glass of wine to his friend and keeping a second for himself as they settled into their seats. "I hear you're to be married."

Derek grinned, his countenance turning light again. He shook his head and shifted back into his seat. "My, Mother sure gets word out fast." He took a long drink. _I should've expected no less._

"She likes to keep me informed, you know that." Marcus smiled. "I'm sure she was writing the letter as you stood with your bride-to-be at your side to announce the news." Derek laughed. "Remind me who this girl is again?"

Derek smiled reflexively at the mere mention of his wife-to-be. "Her name is Meredith. She's a Grey."

Mark thought for a moment, and took a sip of his wine. "Never heard of her. Or the Greys."

"Yes, well, you wouldn't have," Derek replied, setting down his glass on the table between them. "She isn't from around here."

Mark's eyebrows shot up. "Across the Great Sea, then?" He smirked. "No wonder it took you so long to pay a visit; you've had to travel hundreds of leagues."

Derek sighed. "You know I haven't crossed the sea."

Mark grinned. "Too scared to leave the sheep without their Shepherd, yes?"

Derek rolled his eyes at the childhood joke. "I simply don't like water."

"Then stay up in your woods. You'll find naught but creeks and streams, barely enough to drown yourself in." Derek ignored the teasing, and Mark finally relented with a smile. "How did you meet her, then?"

"Her father's a merchant," Derek replied. "Mother met him while on the hunt for a very specific bolt of fabric." He shook his head with a smile. "I still have no idea if she ever found it, but she did return with—"

"—a marriage arrangement?"

"No, but close enough that it makes no matter." He folded his hands, preparing himself to do the business he'd left Meredith for in the first place. He didn't bother mincing words. "You know why I've come."

Mark nodded, the mocking smile falling off his face. "I do," he replied seriously.

"I want to ask you to be my Right Hand."

Though he had been expecting it, Marcus still couldn't help but be flattered by the offer. He knew Derek trusted him, they were like brothers, but still… It was an honor, nonetheless. A very public honor. "I accept, of course," he answered immediately.

Derek grinned easily, relieved. Ever since he'd learned wedding customs, he'd known that Mark would eventually be his Right when he got married. He would do the same for his friend in a heartbeat, of course… if the man ever learned how to form relationships that lasted longer than one night with a woman who walked away carrying coin. "I'm very pleased to hear it."

Mark smiled. "So," he began, "tell me about this Grey girl. I think I ought to know more than her first and last name, if I'm to be the Right Hand at your wedding."

Derek sighed tiredly, but Mark could tell he was happy—and a bit amused, too. It felt nice to see his friend again; it really had been a long time. "I suppose you'll want to know what she looks like."

Marcus smirked. "I should like something pretty to look upon when I am forced to be pleasant and pay a visit. …So yes, I would like to know what she looks like."

"As long as all you do is look," Derek replied. He paused, and Marcus watched an almost dream-like smile spread over his face. He wished they were boys again, so he could smack the dopey smile off Derek's face and get no more punishment than a slap across his own face. It would be worth it.

He merely smirked instead, shaking his head. "She's pretty, I take it?"

"More than pretty," Derek replied immediately, almost insulted at the assumption. "She's—"

"—an angel cast down from Above," his friend interrupted in exasperation. "Yes, yes, I understand, I understand."

The bridegroom-to-be snorted. "Somehow I doubt _you _understand."

"What?" Mark replied, insulted. "I'm perfectly capable of spotting a pretty girl myself and declaring her as such."

"You mean a pretty _whore_," Derek corrected, and Mark grinned.

"You and I both know there isn't much difference between a highborn girl and a gutter wench once they're naked with me." Derek winced, remembering a few unfortunate occurrences where he'd walked into his best friend's private quarters unannounced and seen that truth for himself. "They always beg for it, whether they're paid to or not."

Derek simply shook his head and raised his eyes skyward, praying to the gods for his friend's forgiveness… not that he deserved it. "I was going to ask you when we'd get a bird from you about a pretty young thing being here to stay, but obviously you have not changed through the war." He sighed heavily. "I thought men were supposed to come out better for their toil, but of course there are always exceptions to the rule."

Marcus smiled thinly, reclining back against the cushions. "I pride myself on _always_ being that exception to the rule, actually—or 'the disappointment,' as my parents were fond of calling me anytime I dared show my face. And you expected me to change?" He laughed dryly. "Truly, me? And how long have you known me, Derek Shepherd?"

The other man waved a hand, shifting in his seat. "I expected too much, yes, I know that now. No need to lay it all on me, my friend."

"I was an officer not a footsoldier, what did you expect, truly? The knighthood old King Avery gave me was nothing more than payment for taking up space beside the men for a time."

Derek reached for his wine, and took a sip. "How was it, meeting the Grandfather King, by the way? Did he look sickly? I hear his health is still in decline, despite the victory."

Marcus frowned, remembering how the old king had coughed his way to his feet. Once he was finally upright, he had looked like he was about to stumble over his own feet. It was a long morning, that one. "The Prince nearly had to raise his sword for him. I thought I was to be knighted by a boy instead of a man, and for a moment when His Grace wobbled, it seemed that might be so." He looked to his friend. "You thought defeating the rebels would cure him of his old age?" Marcus shook his head, sighing. Derek tilted his head at the sad look on his boyhood friend's face. "There's nothing to be done for him," he finished softly. "He's been a good king. I'm loathe to see him go…" He drew a breath, and his voice grew more cheerful. "But at least he saw the last of those rebels before he died, that we all can be thankful for."

"_And_ that we seem to have a capable heir in line," Derek added. "We can be thankful for his young blood, too."

Marcus's lips twitched disapprovingly.

"What?" Derek questioned, noticing his friend's frown. "He practically won the war. Not one man in the kingdom has a bad word to say about him. In fact, they cheered his name in the streets of the capitol when he rode home. What quarrel can you have with him? You must've laid eyes on him for all of twenty minutes."

"He needs to marry," Mark pointed out. "We left some of those rebels alive because they were our own once, but people will forget… And then they'll come after him, too, once Harper dies. He must have an heir by then. If he's killed…"

Derek frowned at the dark picture his friend painted; he'd had quite enough of the fighting to last him a lifetime. He ignored the voice in his mind that reminded him that he, in truth, had had none. "So you think if the traitors murder Prince Jackson a year into his reign, it will all be set to rights by the fact that his wife will have a babe at the breast?"

"At least it would be a start."

Derek chuckled, and it was Mark's turn to frown again. "What?" He wondered, eyeing his friend.

"Nothing. It's just…" Derek smiled. "You, Marcus Sloan, forever unattached, _you _are lecturing another man about the way he conducts his private life? His _marriage, _nonetheless? How can you pass judgment on the prince's marriage when you have no intention of ever marrying yourself?"

"His private life isn't very private when it involves a woman who may very well become our future queen in a year's time," Mark pointed out. "And _I _can pass judgment because I am a subject of his grandfather's kingdom, one who fought in a war to keep it together, and one who hopes it will _stay _together. A good marriage and many strong sons will ensure that." He paused. "He should choose wisely, but fast." Derek allowed that, nodding. "And…" Marcus sighed heavily, and sat back against the cushions. He lifted his glass, and took a long drink before finally saying, "I've had a letter from my mother."

Derek Shepherd's ears perked up at this. It was rare that Mark ever spoke of his parents; that rarity was made even scarcer after his father's passing years ago. "Your mother?" _You mean the one you haven't spoken to since you were a child under her roof?_

"She…" Mark seized the flagon of wine the serving girls had left, refilled his goblet, and took another long drink. "She is…" he searched for the right word, swirling his glass. "She is _demanding _that I marry." He downed the last of his glass's contents. "So that is why I'm preoccupied with the subject at the moment."

If Derek had been drinking, he might've spit his wine all over his friend. "M—_Marry_?" He sputtered. He stared at his friend, hoping to see a flicker of amusement or mischief pass over the man's face. There was nothing, only the silent seriousness that told Derek Shepherd that this wasn't a jape. "Why…?" He could not even formulate a question; he knew all the answers already, anyway.

"She claims that this farce that is my life—her words, not mine—has gone on enough. Much too long, in her opinion, but she's excusing me the months I was at war—_'doing my duty,'_ as she says." He shook his head, his face twisted, curdling with disgust as if he had just drank soured milk instead of sweet wine. "And then she wrote that I had a duty to do my family, as well and—"

"—bear sons," Derek finished for him softly. He'd heard the same speech as well, though it was much more of a gentle prodding and from a less poisonous tongue.

"Unless I do not find a wife within the year, I'll find myself penniless within a fortnight thereafter." Marcus paused, taking a moment to stare at all the wealth around him, even in this one small room. He knew the furniture cost more than some of his farmers made in a year. He knew the clothes on his back could keep a small family fed for near as much time. He swallowed. He almost could not believe that if he failed to marry, it would all disappear in a two weeks… But he knew his mother did not make empty threats. Not where her House was concerned, not where her husband was concerned, and never where her only child and only son was concerned. "You and I both know she would rather watch me starve to death on the streets—that's a more noble end to my aimless life than living it without an heir would be."

_She would never, _Derek wanted to say, but knew it wasn't true. Lady Rosalyn Sloan could and would physically force her son into prolonging their house if need be. It was what his father would have decreed too, and Mark's mother was nothing if not faithful to her late husband. There was no greater shame than seeing a line die out, and people like the Sloans… Derek knew they would never let something happen. And though Mark was a man grown, and had been for many years, he was dependent on his inheritance, as all people of their station were.

"You know," he began futilely, "you could always try—"

"—working for a living, like a commoner?" Mark smiled thinly. "What skills do I possess to do such a thing?" He frowned, sighing. "No, I daresay marriage, though not desirable, still ranks above working for my keep."

"The smallfolk—" Derek began again.

"—do not like me," Mark finished coldly. "They tolerate me because they have to, but I would find no love there, and no support."

Derek glanced sidelong at his friend. "Perhaps you should change that."

Marcus's mouth twitched, annoyed. "Perhaps. But I will settle one task at a time, and the first is to find a wife so I do not completely lose my inheritance to a woman who should have died over a decade ago."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Derek could not help but smile as a thought occurred to him. "Pity there is not more of a market for male whores," he noted, as one would comment on the subtle changes of the weather. "You would do well for yourself, there."

It was said so seriously, so offhandedly, it caused Mark to burst out laughing.

Derek broke into a grin and chuckled a bit himself. "It's nice to see you laugh," he commented.

Mark snorted, "Who are you, your mother?"  
"Because my mother is be the only one who wants to see you enjoy yourself every once in a while?"

Mark smiled. "Drink it in, Shepherd. I fear enjoyment will be hard to come by over the coming months."

Derek shook his head, sighing. "Marriage is not so bad, you know."

"Oh?" Marcus cocked an eyebrow. "And you speak from personal experience, I trust?"

"Not yet," Derek allowed. "But I—"

"—know nothing," Mark finished for him grimly. "There is nothing good to be had out of marriage, except a scheduled fucking—and likely not even a good one—and possibly an heir or two. _If _that."

"There is also the prospect of spending the rest of your life with the woman you love."

Marcus stared his friend hard in the eye. "I apologize, but have you forgotten what the term 'arranged marriage' means, friend? _I do not know her_. Tell me how I am to love a woman I've never met, for I should like any council you might offer me on the matter."

Derek did not so much as shrug. "What rule is there writ by the gods that decrees that you cannot grow to love your wife?"

"I do not need a holy law to tell me so," Marcus replied. "Simply the sense the gods gave me."

Derek grinned. "Because they gave you so much, didn't they?"

Marcus grinned back. "I have escaped commitment and marriage longer than you, have I not? I would say I've got more sense."

"And yet I will be the one who prospers in my marriage whilst you suffer; you will be too stubborn to give her a chance, I know it."

"I don't care what you know." His lips turned down into a frown. "_This _is the farce. This ridiculous ploy for marriage and sons—" He cut himself off, seething suddenly. "If they had been better parents, I might want those things myself. If they had been better parents, I'd have had a wife years ago, and more children then I could count or house. If they had been better _parents, _I—"

"—would not be who you are today," Derek finished softly. He stared at his friend calmly until the fire left his eyes. He took a breath, trying to find a less toxic subject. "How… How is it that she holds all of your inheritance?" Derek wondered, remembering how he had come into his own years ago. "She's a woman—"

"My father signed the rights of inheritance over to her before he died. Neither of them trusted me; he trusted _her _more than me. I am is _only_ child, his only _son_… and he trusted _her _more than me." He sighed, running a hand through his hair and scratching vigorously at the back of his neck. He closed his eyes. "I would wait for her to die…"

"…But she will most likely outlive us both," Derek finished for him.

Mark grimaced, nodding. "Exactly." He took a breath. "And she probably has safeguards against her own death, others to take up guarding me from myself, as she sees it." The straight line of his mouth hardened. "I will not be kept ransomed any longer."

"So you're going to do it? You're going to be married?"

Marcus smiled in a way that was no doubt supposed to be mocking, but only ended up looking distressed. "Do I have any other choice?" He sighed, and then looked up to meet his friend's eyes. He jerked his chin towards Derek. "And you're doing it. How hard could it be? Just a simple ceremony and a quick consummation—"

"—and the rest of your life," Derek finished dryly.

Mark frowned, thinking. "I can do the first two simply enough. The latter…" He trailed off, already frowning. "Well, we shall see, won't we?"

"It will be prove to be more convenient than going to a brothel every time you have an itch to scratch," Derek pointed out.

Marcus thought on that for a moment. "True."

Derek sighed heavily, suddenly wishing very much that he was home with Meredith. He missed his uncomplicated life—_why have I filled it with complicated fools?_ But he knew he had to help his friend, any way he could, no matter the cost. "You know you… can't exactly… _fault_ her," he told his friend, watching and wary of his reaction. The man sitting before him barely blinked. "You're her only son," Derek informed him, as if he hadn't known, "and her only child, as well. You can't fault her for wanting her only child to make something of himself, and wanting her only son to carry on the family name." Mark didn't reply, but from the way he looked away, Derek knew he became cognizant of those points long ago. All that was left was to accept his fate. "You should commiserate with Prince Jackson," Derek added with a weary smile. "I'm sure he hears such a speech daily, being the sole heir as he is."

Mark's head turned back, and the smallest smile turned up the corners of his mouth. "Maybe he and I could conduct our fruitless search for wives together, then. It would be nice to have some company."

Derek shifted in his seat, his bride-to-be's words suddenly ringing in his head. Though he had come here with a purpose this morning, that was not this. He had already accomplished his purpose—Mark was his Right Hand. But Meredith… Meredith had asked him to look in on possible husbands for her little sister, Alexandra… He swallowed. He knew Mark wasn't what his wife-to-be would have wanted for her sister, and he would say the same for his soon-to-be sister-in-law, but the stars had aligned and the moment had come. Who knew? Maybe Mark would want someone simple. Derek took a breath and decided to give the idea a chance. "Or I could do you better, I believe."

Marcus looked up, his bright blue eyes narrowing. Derek wished he was not so suspicious, but after speaking with his mother—if only on paper—Derek understood why the man was on edge. "How so?" He wondered, voicing each word with the utmost care.

"Well, it just so happens that Meredith—she has two younger sisters, you know… It just so happens that the… the middle one is looking for a husband." He regarded his friend, reaching up to rub the back of his neck nervously. _I am not cut out for matchmaking._ "You would be a good match for her."

Mark frowned immediately; the gesture made deep creases in his skin. "And she a poor match for me." His mouth twisted unhappily. "A merchant's daughter? Do you have idea how much my mother would look down on someone of her station?"

Derek shrugged. "Who said your mother ever had to see her, save for the wedding? And if she gives you sons, your mother will find no cause to hate her."

"My mother has never _needed_ cause to hate anyone," Mark muttered under his breath. "She simply _hates_. And if need really be, she will find cause, trust me. It will be the shape of her nose or the set of her lips, something she has no hope of changing or setting right… and therefore no hope of ever pleasing my mother. Just like me," he finished with a scowl.  
Derek sighed, but refused to delve into Mark's childhood problems. That was an old and dark road he'd tried to travel down too many times only to be sent back the way he'd come. It led nowhere and offered him nothing, time and time again. "She has no husband," Derek reminded his friend. "She has no other children. You are her _only son_. What do you expect her to do, sit back and watch as you become an old man before her very eyes and run the family name into the ground? She—"

"—she found her leverage and she's using it," Marcus finished for him. His blue eyes were cold like the past winter, but Derek knew from experience that the icy frost was not directed at him, as much as it might seem. "I must marry reasonably within the year or face destitution." Mark sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Pray, tell me—exactly _how_ a merchant's daughter is '_reasonable'_?"

Derek chewed on the inside of his cheek. He knew naught what to say.

"You proved your worth in the war," he spoke finally, trying to figure out a way around Mark's mother's chokehold. "You protected the kingdom, you—"

"I did my duty as a subject, just like any other farm boy or village militia would have and did." Derek tried not to wince at the comment; he knew Mark was not trying to shame him. The older man sighed a moment later. "Well, the time has come now, regardless. It does not matter what I've done in the past, or what my plans for the future are, if I had had any. All that matters is the fact that I'm past thirty and haven't sired a true heir, whereas most men would have too many to speak of in my place."

_She should understand that that isn't you_, Derek thought but knew he couldn't say. It didn't matter if it was in Mark's character to take a wife and father sons. It was his duty, it was every man's duty, but with Mark being the only son and sole surviving heir to the Sloan house, it weighed on him much more than it would any other man. Finally, Derek found the words to reply. He knew Meredith had asked this of him, and he knew how precarious his best friend's situations was… He closed his eyes. He hoped he was doing the right thing, and prayed it would all work out in the end.

"I know you have your choice of whomever you would want for a bride, but Meredith's younger sister… Thatcher Grey will be hard-pressed to find a husband for her, with all the young men that lie in graves now. You both would find a quick and easy solution in each other." He paused, looking his friend in the eye seriously. "And I would consider it a great favor," he added, trying to entice his friend. "Meredith… Meredith will worry ceaselessly about her sister until she's spoken for, I know she will. …But if her sister were already settled by the time we're to be married…" He trailed off, letting his friend take that in. "I would consider it a great favor," he repeated finally, never taking his eyes off his friend.

Mark's mouth twisted as he considered the offer more seriously this time, now that he was caught in a corner. After some time, he looked to his best friend. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was the easiest solution. He could wed her, bed her, and hopefully have an heir to write home about within the year. His mother couldn't be _too _displeased with her if she gave him a son, could she? Even if she was a merchant's daughter? _She'll hate her like she hates you, make no mistake._ "Have you beheld her?"

Derek nodded. "She isn't more than a year younger than my own wife-to-be; near twenty." He paused, trying to recall what she looked like. He had only seen her briefly, and on few occasions. "She's pretty, too."

"Well, if she's related to _Meredith_, she _must _be."

Derek did not rise to his friend's sarcastic jibe. "She has dark hair and fair skin. She's quiet, from what I've seen." Derek refrained from noting that she had the ability to hate certain people on sight; he knew that little detail would not help his cause. "Polite, courteous; she knows her place. She's a maiden, still," he added, "or claims to be."

Mark rolled his eyes. "As if that matters to me."

"It matters to _her_," Derek replied sharply. He could still remember how scared Meredith was that first time, how nervous. He blinked. It all seemed so long ago, as if from a different life. "And it will matter to your mother. You know she will ask."

_My mother should be rotting in the grave, not worrying over whether or not my bride has had men or not._ Mark closed his eyes, thinking. "She's polite, pretty, nubile…" He opened his eyes, appraising his best friend. "What, pray tell, makes you think she deserves to be saddled with me?"

Derek frowned, disapproving, as always, of his friend's low opinion of himself. He was not a perfect man, that was for certain, but he was not a terrible one either. Mark had always expected the worst of himself, and after his father's passing, Derek had hoped that self-loathing trait might fade a bit. But if anything, the old man's death only made Mark feel _more _inadequate. Derek was sure it had something to do with filling the space his father had left behind. It would be an impossible fit for any man, but Mark did not seem to see that. He only saw that he wasn't measuring up—forgetting that those were impossible standards—and was certain he never would.

Derek suddenly realized how correct Lady Rosalyn was. He _had _to marry. If not the Grey girl, then someone else, it didn't matter… But he needed someone to take his mind off of himself. He needed to find someone who looked up to him, for reasons other than his apparent prowess in the bedchamber or station in society. He needed to stop being so damn alone.

Derek knew Mark liked to brag of his female conquests; he kept a running tally of commoners and whores alike he'd had… But it was all a gross exaggeration. At one time, of course, it had been true. But that was long ago. That was before Addison, before he learned that there really was something more to life than moving from one bed to the next, that there was something more to women than the tits on their chests and the slit between their thighs. But she left, just like all the others, though it had been different for him. He had never been quite the same since then. He became cold and hard and very, very alone. Derek wondered if this woman—or any woman—could fix him.

"You'll meet her at the wedding this summer," Derek informed his friend. "Speak to Thatcher Grey then. He might put it off because of my wedding Meredith, but he won't outright refuse you, not with his daughter at the age she is. Schedule to call back, and make sure he knows who you are. He wouldn't dare refuse you then, no matter what you wanted."

Mark nodded. "Especially if I offer to pay."

Derek glanced at his friend, surprised that he seemed to be rushing things. "You want it done fast, then?"

Mark nodded. "If this is what I'm going to do, how I'm going to get my inheritance and my life back, then I want it over and done. I don't want to wait more than a few months after your own wedding." Derek nodded in agreement. _The less time he gives himself to back out, the better. He'll go poor fast once the inheritance is cut off. _ "…When _is _your wedding, again?"

"May."

Mark nodded. "I'll do it in the late summer, then. August or early September; in the fall, perhaps. Get it all out of the way before winter comes again."

"And if you do it during the harvest, the smallfolk will be distracted. You can keep it private and quiet."

Mark nodded again. "A quiet wedding for a quiet girl." He looked at Derek. "I will not be saying anything to Thatcher Grey until I see her, you understand? I will not have you tricking me into marrying the family's gargoyle just because you pity her lot in life."

Derek sighed. "She is not a gargoyle, Mark." He paused, thinking. "But I do—" He broke off suddenly, realizing just how unwise it would be to continue. _I do pity her._

The unfinished sentence did not slip past shrewd Marcus Sloan however. He snatched after it like a child grabbing for sweets, though he knew the taste of this would be much more sour. "But?" He repeated. "Why do you pity her?'

Derek pulled at his ear. He wished he and Mark weren't such old friends, wished they couldn't sense each other's moods and thoughts as easily as if they were their own.

"What's wrong with her, Derek?"

"Nothing's…_wrong _with her," Derek replied cautiously. "She's just…" He sighed, knowing he couldn't say anything but the truth. "The reason her father is looking for a marriage, the reason he wouldn't refuse you even if he didn't know who you were…" He sighed. "She was betrothed, for many years…"

"He died in the war."

Derek nodded, grimacing. "A—At the Steppes, I've been told."

"Oh, _wonderful_!" Mark nearly shouted, his sarcasm biting deep as he jumped out of his chair. "She's _grieving_, too, on top of it all." He shook his head, turning his back to his friend before abruptly doing an about-face. "Don't tell me it was his own men who felled him," he demanded, "or that he was cut down accidentally, just as the rebels were bending the knee again?"

Derek grimaced again, almost wincing as he replied. "In the…sixth hour, I heard Meredith say."

Mark turned his head away with a huff, too angry to speak.

"She barely knew the man," Derek told him, suddenly desperate now and getting to his feet as well. "She barely knew him, if what Meredith says is true!" Mark turned slowly. His blue eyes bore angrily into Derek's. "The grief cannot run too deep."

Mark's eyes were cold. "Never underestimate the absurdity of a woman's love."

Derek didn't reply, and Marcus was grateful for that. _He's a good friend, _he thought, cooling off. If Derek had been anything lesser, he might've brought up Addison in that moment. He might've asked _exactly what do you mean by that comment?_ But he was not a lesser friend, and they both knew it. There was a reason they had been so close for so long.

"You haven't told me her name," Mark called later, just as Derek was taking his leave. The arguments and questions had ended long ago, and though he'd never said so blatantly, Derek was quite sure that Thatcher Grey might be receiving a visitor in the coming months, and his daughter a suitor.

Derek Shepherd stopped, just a couple feet away, and turned around. He was surprised his friend was even considering the match, but then he remembered the circumstances. _She will prove to be the quickest and easiest solution. _"It's Alexandra," he replied. "Alexandra Grey."

Marcus sighed, expelling his breath in a loud gust. Derek watched his friend's mouth move as he tried out the name silently on his lips. "It'll do," he said finally.

.

It was well past dusk when Alexandra heard her door creak open. She had been reading those old letters by candlelight, as she did most night when she couldn't sleep. Which was every night. His signature always made her feel better. _With love, George. _She bit her lip hard, reining herself in, and looked across the room. She had been expecting to see a Sarah trying to sneak in quietly to tend to the fire, but was surprised when she saw Meredith quietly closing the door behind herself. The blonde gave her younger sister a once-over before sighing softly.

"I heard," she murmured, moving to stand by the brunette's side. Her eyes roamed over the letters, and then found her sister's face. "I'm so sorry, Lexie."

Alexandra couldn't help but smile faintly at the nickname. It had been months since she'd heard it—Meredith was the only one she allowed to call her that. Usually she hated it—_That's not my name, Meredith! _—but tonight… Her eyes went misty before she even had a chance to open her mouth. "You heard?" was all she could croak out.

Meredith pulled her younger sister into a fierce hug without having to be asked. She was trying to hold back from crying, Meredith knew, but sometimes it was just better to let it out. She hugged her sister tightly, and stroked her hair when the tears finally came. "I'm so sorry, Lexie," she said again. "I know how important he was to you, what he meant to you." _With love, George._

"I have—_no one_ now," Alexandra choked out. She pulled out of her sister's grasp and stared at the blonde woman with tear-reddened eyes and watery streaks on her cheeks. "You—You have Derek and Laura has offers, but I… I don't have anyone or—or anything."

Meredith tried not to wince at the sound of her fiancé's name. "I'm sorry," she murmured again. "I thought speaking of dresses and weddings earlier might cheer you." She paused, saddened. "Or at least distract you." _I never meant to torture you, I swear it._

Alexandra didn't reply. "You know I am to married as well, don't you?"

Meredith nodded, giving her sister a sympathetic frown. "I know not to whom, though. Father had not told me that part."

"That's because Father hasn't found anyone." Alexandra's eyes suddenly flooded with tears again, though she couldn't fathom why. _Isn't it better that he's found no one? Isn't that what I wanted?_ "He won't…" She choked on her breath as she drew it in, "won't find anyone."

"Nonsense," Meredith replied soothingly, rubbing her sister's back. "He'll find someone."

"He will not be someone desirable."

Meredith held back from wondering if her sister desired anyone in the world anymore. _With love, George. _She decided not to mention her plans with Derek. She knew he must have some friends that might please her sister, but if not… Well, with Alexandra already so heartbroken, Meredith did not want to cause her any more unnecessary pain…or hope.

"He'll find someone," was all she could think of to say, praying she was right.

.

**Author's Note:**I hoped you all liked this first glimpse of Mark, and more of Derek, Meredith and Alexandra. :) Reviews are greatly appreciated! Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4:**

_Author's Note: Thank you all for the reviews! Each was greatly appreciated :)_

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Alexandra was just coming inside from a walk into town when she heard the shouting. Instinctively, she shrunk back in the doorway she was stepping through. There was no one around, so she lingered—more out of curiosity than anything else. It had been years since she'd heard shouting in the house. It took her not more than a moment to recognize the voices, and as soon as she comprehended the meaning in their words, she wished she hadn't. Her blood went cold, and her body with it, despite the warm spring air that was blowing in from outside. _They're talking about me._

"I told you to find her a suitable bridegroom, not to find her a sot who thinks whoring is the epitome of being a man!" That was her sister—Meredith, of course—Laura was too young to defend her and innocent enough still to think that whores were not really used by men of station.

"You asked me find a friend that needed a wife—that is what I did!" She recognized Derek Shepherd's voice at once, though she'd never heard him raise it before. His was always soft and gentle, full of polite comments and warm jokes.

"And apparently I needed to stress that the man you found must be _suitable _for her!" Meredith nearly shouted. Alexandra could hear her stamp her foot to emphasize her point and let out some of her rage. "How could you pick someone such as him?"

Slowly, Alexandra stepped out of the doorway and into the house. She moved through the mudroom with softened steps, not making a sound—not that they would hear her, with all the noise they were making. They were just in the next room, which was why Alexandra had heard them the moment she came near the house. Each had their feet planted on opposite ends of the room; Meredith's back was half-facing her sister, but Alexandra could see Derek perfectly well. She wondered how long they'd been arguing; he looked more than a little frazzled. It would make her smile, to see him as such… if only they weren't discussing her inescapable future.

"I don't see what the issue is!" Derek replied, more exasperated than angry. He sounded as if he'd had a very trying day. "He has a title, lands, wealth; he's handsome, isn't he? What's the horrid problem you fear? He's me, Mer, have you thought about that? He's my brother, he's practically _me_, just—"

"—without a heart!" Meredith interjected, throwing out her arms.

Derek's mouth closed, and Alexandra watched his expression hardened. She wondered if now would be the time that someone finally put her outspoken sister in her place. Though she knew the blonde would deserve it, she couldn't desert her side—not after all Meredith had said in her defense. "You should know," he began quietly, "that I've asked Mark to be my Right Hand."

Meredith turned away, putting her back to her would-be husband and unknowingly facing her hidden sister. Alexandra automatically shrunk back to disappear, but still watched, heart pounding, as her older sister put her face in her hands. Eventually, Meredith turned back, her hands strongly at her sides. Alexandra did not need to see her sister's face to know the accusing look in her green eyes. "Do you even know what it _means_ to be a Right Hand in a wedding ceremony, Derek?"

Her groom's reply was immediate, and showed blatant annoyance at her condescension. "Of course I—"

"You will give that ring _to me_," Meredith interrupted angrily, her voice rising shrilly. "But before you do that, you will have taken it from _his_ hand. You will take it from the man you trust most in the entire world." She tipped her head to the side. "What does that say about you, hm? What does it say of the future of our marriage? That _he's _your Right Hand? Marcus Sloan?"

"Mark is my _brother_, Meredith." Derek's voice was hard and cold. She had never heard him like this before, and would never dream that he would speak such a way with Meredith. "You would do well to remember that when you speak of him."

"And _she_ is my sister," Meredith replied, her hard voice matching his. "You should value her opinion, her life, as you value mine." She jutted out her chin, and drew her skirts up into her hands. "But apparently you value neither," she threw over her shoulder as she stalked away.

Alexandra watched, frozen, as her sister stormed off. She more than expected Derek to follow after her—he always did. She was expecting that so much, in fact, and counting on him leaving, that she stepped out of her hidden spot too soon. He was still standing in the room, facing her, with his eyes open. It took him all of two seconds to lock his blue eyes with hers, and less than ten to cross the room to speak with her. She squeezed her own eyes shut tight, wishing she'd heeded her mother when she'd warned her against the dangers of eavesdropping when she was a girl. _Never listen in on words that are not meant for your ears. You may not always like what you hear, and then you will be left with another's judgments ringing in your ears._

_I hate what I hear, _she wanted to tell her mother. _I hate who I am and I hate who I am destined to become. _Alexandra suddenly ached for her mother to be alive. She knew—irrationally, she knew—that if her mother were alive, everything would be set to rights. The traitors would have never risen up, the king would have never taken sick, George would never have died, and this Marcus Sloan character would never need look for a wife, nor be forced to find one in her…

And nor would Derek Shepherd be striding towards her, his eyes filled with both regret and determination. He took her by the arm without a word, and she knew she had no choice but to follow.

They walked a hundred yards in tense silence before he finally spoke. Derek slowed their walk to naught but a crawl, though he never unhooked her arm from his. _Where does he expect me to run? _Alexandra wondered, staring at his arm wound round hers with carefully concealed disgust. _This is mine own home._

_ Not for long, _a taunting, sickening voice whispered in her ear. She couldn't help but shiver at the thought.

"He's not heartless, you know."

Alexandra swallowed, doing her best to gather herself and not reply. _Yes, he is,_ she wanted to knew Meredith. She did not know Derek. And the gods knew she didn't know her husband-to-be, but if Meredith said he was without a heart, then that was what he was.

"Alexandra, I'm serious."

_So am I. So was Meredith._

"Lexie—"

Her head whipped around automatically as her eyes flashed to accuse him so violently that speech left him. "Don't you ever call me that."

He recoiled, taken aback. His arm went slack around hers. "It is your—"

"It is _not _my name."

"Meredith calls you—"

Alexandra put her hands on her hips, effectively slapping his away and cutting off their contact. "Have you grown long blonde hair and breasts in these last two minutes, or am I blind to your changings?" She glared at him as he winced. "You are not my sister, do not pretend to be her. You are her husband—" she laughed shrilly for a moment "—you are not even that! And that makes you nothing to me." Her tone grew as hard as stone, and her eyes along with it. "Do not pretend otherwise, Lord Shepherd, for I will not have it."

He held her gaze for a long minute before sighing, and stepping on his way again. "Fine," he muttered. She followed behind at a slower pace, keeping a foot of distance between them. He took a long breath before speaking again.

"He is not as horrible as Meredith paints him to be."

"He _whores_." She all but spat out the words, disgusted. A man's whoring had never bothered her before—it was his problem if he wasn't capable of finding himself a proper woman—but this man was going to be her husband…

"You would be hard-pressed to find a man who hasn't had his fair share of whores, _Alexandra, _as you and I both know," Derek pointed out.

She ignored that, though she knew it was true. She did not ignore his emphasis. "You better have not told him that was my name." Her voice came out in a half-growl, and though she knew she was testing him with her horribly unladylike behavior, she didn't stop. She was too angry and too betrayed and—_How dare they sell me off to some heartless whoremonger?_

Derek stared at her. "I told him your name was Alexandra."

"Good." She waited a beat, suddenly nervous. She half-regretted laying into Derek as she had; she hadn't realize that he was the one who held the keys to her future, who knew the secrets concerning her husband-to-be. "What… What else did you tell him?" She wondered, trying to sound as wary as possible and as brave as her nerves would allow.

She thought she caught the Shepherd boy smiling out of the corner of her eye, but it was gone so quick that she couldn't be sure. "I told him you were pretty." He glanced at her, and she watched as he judged her with a look. "I told him you were quiet and respectful, as well, so you'd best start acting the part soon enough."

Alexandra ignored that, too, but tucked it away in her memory; she'd need it later. Her stomach suddenly clenched, realizing, _I'll have to meet him soon. Properly and… and…_ "He's not really your brother, is he?" She blurted the first words that came to mind, desperate to know anything and everything Derek Shepherd could tell her about her soon-to-be husband.

She took note of his smile this time; it stretched wide and remained that way as he spoke. "No, not really. We have different mothers, different fathers." He lips twisted up in a smirk. "I cannot say we do not share blood, though, for we sliced our palms when we were boys, and made ourselves blood brothers for life."

"You're close," she noted. She couldn't help but sound surprised.

"Close as can be." He paused, glancing to Alexandra. "As close and you and Meredith, I believe."

_Not a chance, _she thought, all the while meeting his eyes with a quick smile and deep nod. _No two are as close as she and I._

"What do you want to know first, what he looks like, or who he is?"

Alexandra bit her lip, knowing she should pick the latter. Finally, she gave in. "The former."

Derek smiled, remembering how Mark had requested just the same of her. "I'm sure you heard this already while you were snooping—" Alexandra huffed, but Derek ignored her "—but he's quite handsome." He grinned, and his white teeth gleamed in the spring sun. "Not as handsome as me, of course, but—"

Alexandra sighed loudly in exasperation. _Two minutes a day is more than enough of Derek Shepherd, I should think. _"Who is he, then? Tell me that, and with fewer words and none of your boasting."

He looked at her sidelong. "You're very demanding for such a young girl."

"Lower-born than you, as well." She sighed theatrically. "When willI _ever_ learn my place?"

That got a laugh from Derek, though it hadn't been what Alexandra was looking for. "If you're anything like Meredith—and you two seem almost as alike as twins—then I should say never." His lips twitched up again, and he dropped his gaze to the ground as he shook his head.

"What?" Alexandra felt the need to press. Somehow, she knew it was about her. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Derek replied, "simply…" He caught her eye, and smiled wide again. His head turned back and forth cheerfully. "He will like that about you."

Alexandra felt a chill go up her back, and through her leg bones, making her knees shake. "He—will?"

Derek nodded. "He likes unconventional women." He looked her up and down for a moment. "And while you seem to be just as conventional as they come on the surface, this little conversation has allowed me more insight into who you truly are than all that I've discussed with your sister."

Alexandra tried not to dwell on the fact that Meredith had discussed her private person with her husband-to-be. It felt like a betrayal, somehow—they went behind her back to secretly find her a husband—though she knew it was apparently all for her benefit. She wondered if Father knew. She wondered if this was some ploy for business, or money, or stature. He was always looking for ways to improve the family trade—ever since Mother passed, every free thought of his went to his work. She couldn't blame him. Whenever she had thought of Mother for those first few years, the blackness had clouded over her so heavily that it took days for her to emerge. And he had the family to sustain, and daughters to protect, with no sons to aid him… It was better that he focused on work. It was better he sold her off like a horse to the highest bidder… _Maybe that will earn Laura a loftier place in life, and a more gentlemanly husband. _She could only pray for so much, as it seemed nearly everything in life was out of her grasp these days.

"You mean he will like me because I might talk back to him on occasion?" Alexandra frowned at the idea. More oft than not, behavior like that from a woman earned her a crack about the face from her husband, not a gesture of affection. She wondered if Derek was leading her into a trap, but then she remembered that he didn't hate her as much as she hated him. _Not so blatantly, at least, _she suspicious side of her cautioned.

"He will not say so, but he likes to be surprised." Derek glanced to her. "And I think he will find that easily in you, if you bother to show him."

_And why should I bother showing him anything? _Alexandra wondered. _Won't he see enough after our wedding night?_

"He has a heart, Alexandra." Derek sighed when she didn't reply. He didn't add that he suspected said heart had turned to stone since Mark last used it. _Bringing up Addison never helps anyone._ "Do me a favor…"

_Why should I do you a favor?_

"And give him a chance," he finished softly. Derek Shepherd walked away without another word, heading back to the house—no doubt to patch matters up with his bride-to-be—and Alexandra watched him go in surprise. _He's just going to walk away like that, after all he's said?_ She was calling after and following behind him before she could even think. "And why should I give him a chance?" She wondered aloud.

Derek Shepherd turned slowly, and regarded her for a short time as they stood their few yards apart. Finally, he met her eyes and replied, "Because I've instructed him to do the same with you."

.

Since Father was away on business, Meredith had Derek stay longer than planned. As she knew would end up happening, Alexandra was kept awake late into the night by the sounds of them resolving their earlier fight. She had been proud of her sister that afternoon—the blonde had been so strong, so obstinate, so _powerful_—and… now what? She was moaning and writhing and giving in two halls away just because a man's hands were on her? _No doubt she has already stopped putting up a fight where my marriage is concerned_, Alexandra thought, annoyed. _My marriage to this apparently heartless stranger._ Alexandra sighed, closing her eyes as she heard her sister let out an extremely loud moan down the hall. She grabbed a feathered pillow from beneath her head and stuffed it over her face to block out the noise. _Are all women so easy to win over? _She grumbled internally. Her eyes blinked beneath the covering a moment later, worried. _Will I be just as easily compelled?_

She rose from bed tiredly, and wiped her eyes. She hoped she would never act like such around _her _husband. Her mind flooded automatically with all Meredith and Derek had said about the man—and what Derek had told her later in confidence—as she walked down the upstairs hallway, heading in the direction opposite their room. She tapped Laura's door softly, and then slipped inside.

"Alexandra…" The younger girl yawned, propping herself up in bed. "Hello."

Alexandra sat gingerly on the edge of her younger sister's bed. "Were you asleep?"

Laura shook her head. She smiled a little guiltily, as if she should be blamed for overhearing the noises down the hall. "They're loud." She kept her voice a whisper, like she thought she should keep quiet despite the din.

Alexandra nodded, watching as the girl gathered her legs up to her chest and hugged them close, laying her head across her knees.

"He'shandsome," Laura noted softly, yawning still. Alexandra could almost see her teenage sister's cheeks blush when she looked over. She remembered how Laura had pointed this out earlier when Meredith had first arrived home. She wondered if her little sister was smitten with the elder's husband-to-be, and smiled at the thought. _Silly girl._ "Don't you think?"

Alexandra took a moment. She had not found Derek Shepherd to be incredibly attractive. He was good-looking, yes, but… _Oh, she's but a child, _she reminded herself. _It will not kill you to indulge her._ "Yes, I daresay." She forced a smile, working a bit to make it lively. "Very handsome. But you know what?"

Laura crawled closer across the bed. "What?" She whispered.

Alexandra reached out to brush a stray lock of hair that had fallen out of her sister's braid back behind her ear. She smiled genuinely this time before replying, "Your husband will be even handsomer."

The girl giggled. "Do you think so, Alexandra? Really and truly?"

The middle Grey nodded vigorously. "Yes, very much so. He will put all other men to shame, and you two will make beautiful children. A dozen, at least."

Laura doubled over in laughter, and lost in that happily innocent sound, Alexandra momentarily forgot about her own future. But when the laugher died away, so did her forgetfulness.

"Do you… Do you think I'll marry long after you?" Laura wondered quietly.

_Gods, I hope so, _Alexandra thought to herself. Her younger sister was a maiden flowered, it was true… But that did not mean she was suitable for marriage. She was still such a child in so many ways that sometimes the older girl feared for her. Alexandra knew she would be able to survive her marriage—after the reality had set in, she had demanded that of herself. _I am strong. I will survive. I must. _But Laura? Alexandra gazed at her sister, still so much a girl… Who knew whom Father would marry her to? Who knew if she could learn how to survive, alone as she would be in her new life?

"Alexandra?"

Her sister's quiet voice brought her back to their conversation. "Excuse me," she apologized. "My mind wandered for a moment." She took a breath. "I'm not sure, little sister. I suppose we will wait and see. Perhaps you will have some time yet at home." _I will speak to Father and make sure you do._

It was quiet in the room for a moment before Laura asked, "Were you thinking of him?"

"Hmm? Who?"

"Him," Laura repeated. "When your mind wandered, did you think of him? Your husband-to-be? Do you think of him often?"

Alexandra swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. "I…" In truth, she tried never to think of him, especially after what Meredith said of him. Her and Derek's little conversation hadn't helped much on that front, unfortunately.

"I bet he will be handsome," Laura whispered encouragingly, albeit naively. "I bet he will be strong and tall and very handsome. And he will be kind and gentle. You'll bear him nice sons and beautiful daughters."

Alexandra smiled sadly, patting her sister's hand. "I don't think so, little lady."

The girl's face fell. "Why not? Isn't that what you want?"

Alexandra smiled, touching the girl's cheek lightly. "Of course it is what I want, little lamb. But…" She paused, wondering how best to explain this without completely crushing her sister's girlhood hopes. She was still so young, so fragile, so impressionable. "A man like that… A man like that only comes around once every few hundred years, sad to say."

The girl nodded, subdued. "Like in the songs. The heroes. There were so few."

Alexandra nodded. "Like in the songs." She paused, trying to lighten her words. "But even if my husband-to-be is as you describe him, I wouldn't marry him."

The littlest Grey looked scandalized. "Why ever not?" She gasped.

"Because," Alexandra smiled, leaning forward, "he would be a prince of a man. And I would want to give him to you, not keep him for myself."

Laura giggled. "But you forget, sister, I am not a princess."

"That's true," Alexandra replied. "You are too pretty to be a princess. I daresay you must be the queen."

The girl giggled again. "I am not!"

Alexandra kissed her sister's nose, and pulled her into a hug. "Well, you will be if you marry His Grace's grandson, won't you? I hear he's bound to find himself a wife soon."

Laura's eyes lit up at that. "Prince Jackson?" She nearly gasped. "Oh, I hear he's _ever _so brave." She sighed wistfully. "The people in town say he could've won the war all by himself."

Alexandra smiled. "Mayhaps he could've. But he had all the men behind him, and I think it was better that way."

The girl grew quiet then, and said something that surprised Alexandra so much she didn't breathe for a minute. "You have all of us behind you too, you know." She looked to her older sister, not at all ashamed of her words, though Alexandra couldn't believe they were coming out of Laura's little child-like mouth. _Perhaps she is not such a child after all, _Alexandra observed, shocked and a bit humbled_. You need to stop thinking of her as such._ "We all love you and we'll miss you when you're gone." She paused. "And if he's mean to you," the girl added, "I'll… I'll hit him!"

Alexandra bit back a laugh, but couldn't contain an amused smile. "You will, will you?" _'I'll hit him,' what a weak threat from a girl not yet sixteen. She'll hit him with nothing but her words, if she can even do that much._

Laura nodded sagely. "People aren't allowed to be mean to you. You're too nice." Alexandra refrained from replying that she thought exactly the same about her younger sister—and she had no idea how Laura had come up with the words for herself. "And if he _is_ mean to you, I'll hit him, I will, I swear it. He's your husband so he must be nice to you. He _must_."

"He will be my husband,"Alexandra agreed. _But that does not mean he must needs play nice with me, no, not at all._ She kept that part to herself. "And he won't be mean to me," she finally said. She smiled at her sister. "But thank you, dear, that's sweet of you to want to protect me."

Laura shook her head. "I don't want to protect you." Alexandra cocked her head to the side, waiting for the rest. "I just want you to be happy." Laura paused, and Alexandra suddenly felt tears prick her eyes. She forced them away, and tried not to think of those months following George's death, and how she had left her baby sister all alone. "He'll make you happy, won't he?" The girl wondered softly.

Alexandra desperately wanted to close her eyes and have a moment alone—to weep or scream or stamp her feet, she couldn't decide—but she knew that was impossible. She had to stay strong for her sister just as much as she had to stay strong for herself. So she did the strongest thing she could think of: she lied, and pawned it off as the truth with a warm smile. "He'll make me very happy," she replied before she lost her cheerful voice to sorrow and tears, "I am quite sure of it."

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_Author's Note: As always, reviews are greatly appreciated! Thank you for reading! I believe Marcus and Alexandra will have their first encounter in the next chapter :)_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5:**

_Author's Note: Okay. This is what you guys have been waiting for. They'll meet in this chapter. *deep breath* I hope you like how it all shakes out. Here we go…_

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The morning of Meredith and Derek's wedding dawned bright and early. Alexandra usually slept until mid-morning each day, but for some reason, the dawn woke her up early that day. She tried falling back asleep, but it soon became obvious that she was too nervous to be anything but awake. She knew it wasn't her wedding day. Everyone knew that, and it was true, so there was no reason to be nervous… But _he _would be here today.

Since she had discovered whom she was marrying nearly two months ago, she'd begun quietly asking around after his character. Derek and Meredith had given her such starkly different views of him, so she couldn't be sure which was true and which was false. She was inclined to believe her sister's judgment of that of her husband-to-be, but in this instance… Derek _was _his closest friend. It held that he might have a better understanding of the man than her sister.

But two months of questioning nearly everyone she knew (and didn't know) yielded very little results. Old friends of her mother's simply droned on and on about his father and mother, his grandfather and grandmother, way back until the Alexandra lost count of how many 'great-'s came before the man's name. She tried to tell them she was not interested in his family history, just _him, _but they never seemed to hear her. The girls her age were worse, if possible. Though they talked less than their mothers and aunts, it was what they didn't (or wouldn't) say that made Alexandra nervous. They would simply look at each other and giggle behind their hands whenever his name was brought up, a sign that Alexandra took to mean her sister was at least half-right. If he'd had all the girls who blushed when they heard his name, it stood to reason he'd been between the legs of half the women in the kingdom. She just hoped their bastard babies wouldn't come crawling to her for scraps; elsewise, it was easy enough to forgive a man his torrid past.

In the end, as the dawn was spilling in through her window on that May morning when she would finally meet him, Alexandra ended up being able to count all the things she knew about her husband-to-be on one hand. He was wealthy—that, everyone could agree on. How wealthy she didn't know, exactly, but he was said to be richer than the Shepherds by a good deal, and that was more than enough for her. George had not been rich (not poor, of course, but not exactly well-off, neither), but she had known she would have a good life with him regardless. Sometimes it wasn't about money, and with George it definitely hadn't been. _I'll just have to make do with a stranger and his piles of gold now, _Alexandra thought to herself, trying not to smile at the absurdity of it all.

Alexandra rose from her bed, walking to the small window that overlooked the Grey's fields behind their house. The servants were already down there, setting up tables and chairs for the feast that would be served after the wedding. She let her eyes wander for a moment, and then caught her dim reflection in the glass. She studied herself for a long moment, turning this way and that, holding her hair up and letting it down. In the end, she let her hair fall and stared at herself in the glass with a frown. She wondered how displeased he'd be with her appearance.

That was the second thing she knew about him: he was handsome. Very much, indeed, if some of those girls she'd spoken to could be believed. She wondered what he would look like. Would he have a kind face, or a hard face? Was he prone to smiles, or was he not one for showing much emotion? Was his hair black or brown or blonde? Red, maybe? And his eyes? Would they be blue or green, or perhaps brown? Grey? She sucked in a breath, realizing that she couldn't remember what color George's eyes had been. They had only met once, it was true… But for years, the image of him had been branded within her mind, impossible to forget. Where had it gone now? She could recall his brown hair and the frequent, almost nervous way he smiled…

She turned away from the mirror, trying to focus on what else she knew. She ended up frowning after only a few more seconds. _Wealthy and handsome, this is all I know of him?_ She would've laughed… if only this were happening to another girl. _How is it that I know nothing more? _She closed her eyes, bringing her hands to her face and rubbing them. _I should've questioned Lord Shepherd more. I should've asked him what he looked like, where he lived, what he liked to eat… _Though she was loathe to admit it, she knew Derek would have told her all she wanted to know at a moment's notice. He seemed just as eager for this marriage to work out as Father was—her father, who had received a letter but a few weeks ago from her husband-to-be. He'd explained who he was, his purpose at the wedding… and asked for her hand. She had watched her father's eyes grow wide as he read the letter, and when she requested that she might see it, he denied her, tucking it away in a pocket.

He replied to it not even a day later, though, and from the way a smile played on his lips for days after that, she knew he hadn't denied Marcus Sloan _his_ request. She tried not to let her nerves get the better of her after that, but it was impossible. Each day that passed drew not only Meredith closer to her wedding day, but Alexandra as well. And she couldn't even find happiness or relaxation at her sister's marriage—for she would be too busy worrying over meeting _him_ to bother with as much as a smile on her sister's happy day.

Alexandra took a breath, calming herself, and combed her hair quickly with her fingers. It fell in troublesome waves down either side of her face. She closed her eyes, getting ready to summon her handmaidens. She knew it would take a better part of the morning to tame her hair into an agreeable shape, scrub her skin clean, and fit herself into a gown for the ceremony. She took one more moment alone, and then stuck her head out in the hallway, and called for Sarah, who came running. She apologized for being the only one available, the rest were already helping her older sister, she said, as they had been for over an hour. Alexandra merely nodded, realizing she'd rather be alone with her personal maid anyway—Sarah wouldn't ask questions, wouldn't press her mistress' silence, and especially wouldn't try to cheer her about the coming of her own wedding day.

.

"Do you have the rings?"

Marcus Sloan sighed, adjusting himself in his seat as his friend paced back and forth. "Derek, calm down."

"Tell me if you have the rings," Derek demanded.

"And what will you do if I do not?" Marcus smirked, imagining it. "Will you—"

"_Mark._"

"Yes, fine, I have the rings," the other man replied with a bored sigh. He took one from his pocket and tossed it in the air so his friend could see. The gold gleamed and shined in the mid-morning light.

"Don't play with that," Derek muttered, reaching out to snatch it in midair.

Marcus chuckled when his friend missed, and enclosed the gold band in his fist to catch it. He slipped it on his own finger then, and held out his hand to admire the view. "What do you say, Shepherd?" He wondered aloud. "The ring fits my hand, too. I think it's a sign. Want me to stand in for you? I can have your pretty bride for mine own."

Derek glared at him, shoving Marcus's hand back at his chest. "Take that off," he ordered. "And don't toy with me now, I'm like to hit you."

Marcus grinned, slipping off the ring and putting it back in his pocket. "Yes, you do seem to be in a right state over this wedding." Derek snorted, claiming that as an understatement. "You've been ready for an hour," Marcus smirked. "We should start calling you the bride, and her the bridegroom. I'm sure she's still abed at this hour, whereas you're up and about, worrying incessantly."

"I'm sure she's awake," Derek muttered dismissively. His head jerked to his friend's a moment later. "She _is _awake, isn't she?"

Marcus might've laughed, but part of him really did suspect that Derek might hit him if he went too far this morning. "Want me to check?" He wondered aloud. "I can ride there and back, and _maybe _arrive at the church in time for the end of the wedding. You can get along without the rings well enough, can't you?"

Derek surprised his friend by smirking good-naturedly, and adjusting the sleeves of his dark black jacket. "You just want an excuse to see your own wife-to-be."

Mark chuckled, but his carefree smile faded. "Yes, I do. I haven't laid eyes on her yet, remember?" He glared at his friend, but the look was only half-mocking. "And here you go, making this day all about _yourself. _Remember me, Derek. It's my day as well."

Derek couldn't help but laugh. "You're right, it _is _your day, after all. How dare I try and steal it from you by marrying the love of my life?"

"Yes, your discourtesy at times _astounds _me, Shepherd. What would your mother say if she heard tell of this?"

"No doubt she would lock us in separate rooms for the day, until we were ready to apologize and make nice."

Marcus smirked, looking down. "I don't think we've ever aged in her eyes," he murmured after a moment. "She still sees us as children, oftimes, and not men grown."

Derek grinned, catching his friend's eye. "Sometimes she's not incorrect… when it comes to you, at least."

Marcus smiled briefly at the teasing before looking away. "As for mine own mother…" His tone grew dark and foreboding.

"Ah," Derek drew in a breath, turning to the window and basking in the sunlight. "Will Lady Rosalyn be joining us on this beautiful morning?"

A faint smirk appeared on Marcus's face. "She sends her regrets that she cannot make the journey."

Derek laughed, knowing it was a blatant lie. The old woman had grown sourer and sourer as her body aged; weddings were her least favorite of all occasions. And since Derek had always felt a particular disdain from her whenever they spent time together, he was not unhappy to hear of her absence. _If she doesn't want to show her face, so be it._ _I will not argue._ "If only she would do the same about your own wedding."

Marcus smiled to himself. "Yes, then it might prove to be a happy affair. The musicians could play the wedding march instead of the funeral dirge they'd had planned."

"Have you told her that you're going to be married?"

"No."

"And why not?"

Marcus snorted. "Why not? Come now, Shepherd, you know my family, especially her. Putting this Alexandra girl in front of my mother would be like putting a canary in front of a starving cat." Derek couldn't help but laugh at the analogy, as true as it was. "She'd devour her." Marcus shook his head. "No, it's better to wait and then let her meet the old woman at the wedding. By then, at least, she can't go running off in the opposite direction like all the rest."

"Ah, now you're cutting off her escape routes." Derek smirked. "Very gentlemanly of you, I approve." Marcus rolled his eyes at his friend's sarcasm. "Are you really as unsatisfied as you seem?" Derek wondered with a laugh. "Have the women finally started shunning you and your whore-like behavior?"

"You know," Mark noted, "the more you compare my lifestyle to that of one who earns coin for fucks, the more I'm inclined to denounce my part in this wedding ceremony after all."

The laughter dropped from Derek Shepherd's face. "Mark…"

Marcus grinned. "Don't worry, Shepherd, I'm a much better friend to you than you are to me—"

"Right."

"—which is why I would never abandon you in your hour of need." He smirked. "I just hope we can only say the same for your wife-to-be."

Derek pointed a menacing finger at his friend. "Do _not _go sowing doubt in my mind, Marcus Sloan."

Mark grinned, chucking to himself. "What a little bride you are," he murmured under his breath. But Derek heard that, and smacked the back of his friend's head before resuming his pacing.

.

"Oh, Lexie," Meredith sighed happily a few hours later, after the sun had risen high in the sky. The heat was just starting to beat down, and it made the upstairs room stuffy. Meredith's eyes roamed over her sister as she looked over her shoulder; Alexandra was dressed in a very pretty pale pink gown. The color made her hair look a shade darker, and her skin a shade whiter. The contrast made her eyes look even more luminous. The sleeves were cut to hug her slender forearms, and ended just before her wrists. "You look beautiful."

Alexandra grinned, stepping into the room. "I'm supposed to be telling you that, sister. Why are you so concerned with how I look?"

Meredith didn't reply, but the pointed rising of her eyebrows said it all. Alexandra wasn't the only one who knew this was an important day for both sisters.

"Well," she began quickly, anxious to change the subject. "Is there anything I can get you? Have you eaten?"

Meredith shook her head with a guilty smile. "I don't think I can stomach anything right now." The woman tending to her hair beckoned Meredith to face forward again, and she did so.

"You should really eat something," Alexandra pointed out, taking a seat on a nearby chaise lounge as three different women fluttered about her sister, fixing her hair and rouging her lips and performing a seemingly endless number of various tasks to augment her already flawless appearance. "I could step down to the kitchen if you like, and bring you up something. They've been cooking for days, I'm sure the smallest bite can be spared, if that's all you can take right now." She smiled. "We can't have you fainting during the ceremony; what would Derek say?"

Meredith relented with a smile. She turned to one of her attendants, dispatching them to the kitchen for a small breakfast for her and her sister. As the girl was hurrying down to the kitchens, Alexandra looked to the sparkling white dress that was her chaise companion. Her eyes roamed over the perfectly cut white silk, and the gauzy fabric underneath that gave the dress volume. She smiled, remembering seeing her sister try it on for the first time weeks ago. Her father had imported all kinds of silks and jewels for it, and hired seamstresses from a nearby city to take measurements and sew it all together. "You'll look stunning in this," she told Meredith.

The bride-to-be was about to reply, but then her breakfast arrived. She dismissed all of her maids, telling them to give the room to her and her sister, and then set the tray on a nearby table. She took a seat for herself and waved her sister over. Alexandra would have been drawn just by the smell of the food only—eggs, fruit, fried potatoes and bread… She smiled as she took her seat, not having realized that she hadn't eaten yet today, either. The two sisters consumed their meal in silence for a few minutes before Meredith asked quietly, "How nervous are you?"

Alexandra swallowed, but the bite of bread she'd been eating seemed to stay stuck in her throat anyway. "Why… Why do you think I'm nervous?" She wondered.

Meredith smiled knowingly at the brunette. "You've eaten just as much as I have, sister. That means you haven't eaten all day. And _that_," she popped a grape into her mouth, "means you're nervous."

Though she thought about denying it, she knew it would be no use. In the end, Alexandra simply shrugged helplessly. "Can you blame me?" She wondered softly, with a sheepish half-smile. "It's near set in stone already that he's to be my husband, therefore I know nothing will change because of this encounter, but…" She looked away, mumbling, "What if he doesn't like me?" She whispered. "And then—then Father will have to find someone else, and—"

"Doesn't _like _you?" Meredith couldn't help but laugh. "Lexie, everyone who so much as _looks _atyou likes you. _Him _liking you is not the problem." Her tone softened, and she reached out to take her sister's hand. "He will like you, I promise," she smiled.

"But will I like him?" Alexandra couldn't help but stare deep into her sister's green eyes, desperate for reassurance and answers. Desperate for a promise that everything would be all right.

Though Meredith attempted to keep her face expressionless, Alexandra saw a frown flicker over her features. "I'm sure you'll take to him," she replied, much less enthusiastic than Alexandra would have hoped to hear.

She couldn't help but point it out. "You really don't care for him much, do you?"

Meredith withdrew her hand from her sister's and straightened her back. "I've never met him," she replied honestly, stretching. "But from what I hear—"

"People tell stories," Alexandra interrupted. "Not all can be true."

Meredith nodded sagely. "I agree." Her eyes flickered to her sister's, and she added quietly, "But when one hears the same story again and again, one might start to take it as the truth."

Alexandra licked her lips, forgetting for the time being that they were painted. Sarah would look her over again before they departed for the ceremony anyway, so it made little matter if he mussed them now. "Do you really think he's heartless?" She wondered softly.

Meredith stared at her sister, her eyes going wide. _How could she have heard that? _"L—Lexie," she began a moment too late, and flustered, "you know I—"

"—was only trying to protect me," Alexandra finished for her softly. "Yes, I know." She lifted her head to meet her sister's eyes. "But I can protect myself." She paused, taking a breath. "And he is _going _to be my husband." _Pending he doesn't turn tail at the sight of me and denounce whatever arrangement he might've made with Father._ "We will be married soon, in months if not the coming weeks." Her brown eyes blinked at her sister, pleading for the truth. "Tell me true, does he have a heart or not?" _There will be no sense in trying to win it if it's already lost._

"I don't know," Meredith admitted after a moment. "It's just, I've heard things—"

"_What_ things?" Alexandra pressed urgently. "What have you heard?"

Meredith frowned, leveling her sister with a serious green stare that made her feel half a child again. "He's a _man_, Alexandra. I've _heard things._"

Alexandra sucked in a breath, leaning back. _So he does whore._ "Do you think…" She took another breath, as deep as her corset would allow. "Do you think he'll be faithful to me?"

Meredith Grey stared at her younger sister with sad eyes. _There are worse things than an unfaithful husband, _she wanted to tell her, but she knew such words would offer her sister no comfort. "I don't know," she replied finally, sounding as honest as she could manage. "Like I said, I have not met him. I only know his character through stories which, I agree, can be misleading." Meredith paused, and reached for her sister's hand again. She clutched it to her breast, pulling her sister close. "But Alexandra, stories don't matter, alright?" She smiled, to make her words sound more heartfelt. "He may be a different man now. And besides, he was the one who went looking after you, wasn't he? That must mean he wants you for a wife, a companion, and not merely—"

"—a bedmate," Alexandra finished sourly. "That's what I am." Meredith sighed when she saw her sister's dark mood would not be short-lived, and she let the girl snatch her hand away. "Men don't change," she continued. "One never hears of a whoremonger who leaves the brothels behind for good because he has a wife at home."

"Well," Meredith sighed, "maybe he will leave them if he has a son at home as well."

The words shot through Alexandra like a bolt of lighting, and her eyes flew to her sister's near as fast. "You—"

"Give him a son," Meredith counseled her softly, "and he will not abandon you." She paused. "A daughter will serve, but only until such time you can produce a true heir for him."

Alexandra paused, licking her lips. For the first time in half a year, she felt hope warm her heart. Lost in her grief of George and despair over her future, she had never once given thought to what might be expected of her in her new home. But it was obvious now. It had been obvious all along, she just hadn't realized until this moment, until Meredith had showed her. _A son…_

"He's… He's an only child," Alexandra remembered, uttering the words through barely-moving lips. _Of course he needs a son._

Meredith was nodding along. "Yes, Derek's told me. He's the last of his line." She smiled encouragingly at her sister, reaching out for her hand again and squeezing it. "Give him a son, and he will have no choice but to love you, as you will have saved his family from ruin."

The first true smile she'd smiled in a long time peeked out from behind Alexandra's usually stoic lips. "Love me?" She whispered, staring at her sister with eyes full of hope. _I had not thought of love before. Not since George died._ Her eyes fell at the thought, and though she felt cruel for doing so, she wondered why. They had not known each other. Her betrothal to George was no different from her arrangement with this Marcus Sloan man. But George was dead and he was alive… _And he might grow to love me._ "If I give him a son…"

A knock on the door interrupted them, and a handmaiden poked her head inside, apologizing for the disturbance. "My lady," she called, "we have to get you dressed now. They said the carriage would be waiting in an hour."

Meredith nodded, allowing the girl to come in. The bride-to-be frowned as she got to her feet, staring at the empty plates she'd left behind. "Oh, I shouldn't have eaten," she fretted. "Now I'll never fit into that dress."

Alexandra smiled, rising as well. "You will fit in the dress," she assured her sister, already feeling happier and lighter because of their conversation. "Don't worry a moment," she advised, as the handmaidens surround the blonde once again. Alexandra was at the door when she heard her sister's voice call out to her. She paused where she was, with a hand on the knob.

"Find me after you speak with him, would you?" There was no question as to who the _him _it was that she was referring. "I should want to hear what you make of him."

"Of course," Alexandra promised, slipping through the door and out into the hallway. Once there, she leaned against the stone of the nearby wall, and took a series of deep breaths. _He might love me._ She closed her eyes, forcing herself not to jump ahead. _First I must get through today, _she counseled herself, _and make a good impression. _That thought sent her mind to reeling again, and her heart to beating as fast as horse might gallop. _I am meeting him today, _she thought, feeling her stomach bottom out in dread just as a smile was taking shape on her mouth.

She wrapped one hand her middle to hold her worry together and another to her face, to cover her widening smile. _I am meeting him today._

.

The wedding somehow managed to both take too long and be over too quickly. Alexandra was glad she had no part in it—for she knew she would neither be able to remember tasks set to her nor words assigned to her. She could barely remember to sit, stand, and kneel at the correct times. But luckily she had the wedding party's cues to follow when those moments arose.

Seated in the fist row, she had a perfect view of the proceedings. Her father sat to her right, and her younger sister to her left. They were surrounded nearly on every side by Shepherds—a fact that Lady Carolyn was quick to point out and apologize for. Alexandra had smiled when the old woman laughed through her own observation. If there was one member of Derek Shepherd's family that she liked, it was the matriarch. Alexandra had never met a more congenial woman. Underneath that cheer, though, she was sure a commanding presence hid. She would not have been able to raise five children without it, Alexandra knew. She suddenly felt the need to beg the woman for advice, but she held herself back, knowing that would be neither prudent nor courteous at a time like this.

As the ceremony wore on, Alexandra found herself wondering what sort of family she was marrying into. The Shepherds were not ideal—she had never cared much for any of his sisters, despite how highly she thought of Lady Carolyn—but what sort of family were the Sloans? What she learned over the past few months had not yielded her much result… All she knew was that her husband-to-be was an only child—a very strange fact, considering his family's standing—and that his father had died a few years ago. Why Lady Sloan and the late Lord Sloan had never thought to have other children, Alexandra could not imagine. How was one enough? She wondered where they'd be if they had had a daughter instead of a son. _Nowhere, most like._

She spent most of the service staring at said son's back. She couldn't see his face, for he never once turned to look over his shoulder at the multitude of guests behind him. _So he has discipline._ She studied his straight back, his hands held firmly at his sides… _And good posture, too._ The only time he seemed to move during the hours-long ceremony was when it was required of him. He handed the rings to Derek, said something that made Meredith smile, and then went back to being as still as a statue. It wasn't until the end of the service that she actually saw his face, and then, it was only for the briefest seconds as he passed by, following Meredith and Derek out of the church. The only thing she could take note of in that split-second were his eyes. They were blue, but not blue like Lord Shepherd's. Derek's were a bright, sky-blue, whereas his were darker. They looked the color of an ocean after a long storm, after the whitecaps had faded and the waves were quelled—a sea-blue mixed with equal measures gray for a duller but no less striking look. She thought of them as she exited the church, accompanied by her father and younger sister; she thought of them as she rode in the carriage home; and she was thinking of them when he approached her on the fields out behind her house. The first thing she could think of when she saw him standing before her was that she wished her eyes were not such a plain and dirty brown.

.

Marcus Sloan had barely stepped out of the carriage when the groom accosted him.

"Have you seen her yet?"

Marcus closed his eyes, sighing, as he stepped down to solid ground. "And I thought I was the one meeting my bride-to-be, not you, Shepherd." He glared at his friend. "There is no need for you to shadow me in the matter, nor sound so impatient or excited."

Derek grinned, clapping a hand on his friend's back and leading him toward the house. "There's always reason for you to have a shadow," he replied, "for someone needs to keep you in line."

Marcus snorted. "Maybe this Alexandra girl will have a talent for making me behave," he joked, with a waggling of his eyebrows.

Derek ignored whatever lewd message his friend was trying to get across. "You may be surprised on that front," he replied, turning away just before the door to have a private word with his friend. "Now, listen," he began. "You—"

"I know how to court a woman, Shepherd," Marcus interrupted with a roll of his eyes.

"No, you don't," Derek replied at once, in his usual honest manner.

Marcus opened his eyes to protest, but then realized his friend was right. "No, I don't," he repeated faintly.

Derek half-smirked, placing his hands on his friend's shoulders. "Look, it's not hard, alright? Speak softly, smile, and laugh if she says anything even remotely humorous. They like it when you laugh."

"'They'?" The other man repeated skeptically.

"Women," the groom replied with a shrug. His hands fell. "Girls."

"They're all the same, are they?"

Derek's reply was simple. He met his friend's eyes and held his gaze for a moment. "To you, they are."

Marcus was once again struck by how frank Derek was, and how easily he was able to peg him and how openly he did so. Every girl _was _the same to him. The only way he differentiated was by which was most attractive or pleasing in between the sheets. And sometimes by the color of their hair, but only if it was exotic. "Well, I'll make her different, then," he decided.

Derek smiled encouragingly, but in a way that told the other man that he was still a bit worried for his prospects. "Good idea." He caught his friend's arm when he tried to walk away. "Be _nice_, Mark," he instructed emphatically.

A smirk spread over the man's face. "Yes, Mother." He pulled out of Derek's grasp, and a moment later, he disappeared among the crowed within the house. Derek sighed, closing his eyes for a moment—prayed to the gods for the best outcome—and went in search of his wife with a wide smile on his face.

.

It was not more than five minutes later when Marcus realized he had no idea what he should be looking for. He knew _who _he should be looking for, of course, but as to what she looked like… All he had to go on was that she had dark hair and pale skin. _And that she's pretty… by Derek's standards, at least._ He smirked at his boyhood friend's expense. Meredith was a handsome woman, there was no argument there… But he couldn't exactly be sure he would want to spend everyday with her. _Well and good that I'm marrying her sister and not her. And good thing they're not twins, too._

He had a smile on his face as he descended the back steps of the Grey's home. He looked around in surprised, and over his shoulder. He had walked the length of their house from front to back in less than a minute. It would take many and more to do so at his own home; the castle the Sloan family called home was not exactly _small._ He wondered what he and his wife-to-be would do with all the space. For the past few years, many of the rooms had remained completely empty—some were barely furnished because of how little use they were getting. He smirked. _Maybe when I give her a tour, we can fuck once in every room. _That would at least keep such a mundane task interesting. His mood darkened a moment. _Or maybe she's like to fill each empty room with a screaming, red-faced infant._ That second option appealed to him much less, though no doubt it was precisely what his mother had in mind.

Lost in thought, he hadn't quite realized where his feet had been taking him. When he finally managed to take note of his surroundings, he'd traveled to the far end of the field allocated for celebration—the grass was not trimmed here, and grew up past his knees. He was taking a step back to the trimmed area when he heard a voice call out—no doubt to him, for he was the only one around.

"Might I direct you somewhere?"

Marcus Sloan turned around to find a young brunette woman walking towards him. She seemed to freeze in her tracks when she caught sight of him, but it made no matter—he met her halfway. He was studying her as he walked forward, trying to judge if this might be his bride-to-be or not. She was unmarried, he saw that from her bare left hand, and she looked the right age. She had dark brown hair and pale white skin… But he would never use the word 'pretty' to describe someone like her.

She was _beautiful_.

Her dark brown hair fell in long waves around her shoulders. It surrounded her head in a dark shroud, something that might be ugly on others, but looked stunning on her. If she had had blonde hair, he might've called her an angel, and declared that she was sent down from the gods. A moment later, he wondered why not. Blonde hair does not make an angel… But a face like hers does. Her dark eyes matched her dark hair, and he found them intriguing even as they widened in some sort of terrified shock. Her nose pointed up from between them, and below that, a pair of small red lips had made their home just above a perfectly rounded chin.

He announced himself immediately, bowing his head to her, and hoped and prayed to the gods that this angel-like woman was in fact his bride-to-be. It had been a long, long time since he'd seen a woman who attracted him so much at just the first glance. "Marcus Sloan." A smile played on his lips, and he heard Derek's imploring, _Be nice, _ringing in his ears. It would be no trouble at all to be nice to this girl. "And you are?"

.

Her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes went wide at the sight of him. _This _was him? _This _was the man she was going to marry, the man she would spend the rest of her life with? He was nearer to a god than a man, and even that did not seem an apt description. _It's him._

She suddenly felt very faint.

She searched for something to say—anything—he'd lifted his head now, and was staring at her queerly for her lack of response. She was suddenly gripped with fear and anxiety—she wasn't ready for this. She wasn't ready for him, not when he looked like he did and she… looked like she did. She took a shaky breath… and said the first words that came to mind, the first words that might stall their meeting now that it was really here, if only by a few moments.

"L—L—Laura Grey," she managed, hoping he didn't know what her younger sister looked like, or what she, herself looked like. She curtsied quickly, staring down at her feet for fear of falling over them like she'd fallen over her words. _Someone please save me._

"Laura?" He wondered, peering at her. She swallowed at the inspection, fumbling for some words to distract him with as she saw his expression fall.

"I'm—I'm Meredith's sister." _Of course he knows I'm Meredith's sister, that was a stupid thing to say._ She quickly looked over her shoulder, thankful, at least, that it seemed most of the wedding party was engaged indoors for the moment. But they would come streaming out soon enough.

"I gathered that from your surname," he replied with an amused smirk, "but thank you for the clarification."

She swallowed. "You, er, you looked confused, is all. I was hoping to—to—"

"…clarify the matter for me?" He prompted with a close-lipped smile. She nodded, to save herself the embarrassment of speaking. "Well, Laura," he began a moment later, his tone conversational, "I was actually looking for your other sister, Alexandra?" He looked over her shoulders, swaying from side to side. "She's around here somewhere, isn't she? Inside, perhaps?"

"She—is. She's just, um…" Alexandra closed her eyes, praying for some kind of deliverance. _Why did I lie?_

"She's not inside?" He prompted, trying to be helpful.

"She…" _Oh, gods, he must think I'm a lackwit. _She closed her eyes. _Or that Laura's one. Oh, dear… _"She's…"

But before Alexandra could finish that sentence, deliverance appeared… Yet simply the worst she could have hoped for. If it was Laura, at least she might've played along. But her father…

"Ah, Lord Sloan." Thatcher Greys was smiling congenially as he approached the two. "I see you've met my daughter." He turned to Alexandra, who felt as if she might be sick. "Dear, why don't you find Laura? One of the Lady Shepherd's daughter's was looking for her, I heard. Give me a moment with our friend here."

"Y—Yes," Alexandra replied with a quick smile that was full of nerves, "of course, I'll find… her." She curtsied quickly to the two men, not daring to meet her husband-to-be's eyes, for fear of what she might see there. The calm-after-the-storm she'd been admiring in his eyes at her sister's wedding would have no doubt turned to a roiling, angry and unforgiving. _Why did I tell him I was Laura? Why did I lie?_ She could feel his eyes on her as she stepped back and departed, and it made her already frenzied heartbeat accelerate to what must be dangerous pace. _Oh gods, _she cried silently, _why did I lie?_

.

Marcus watched her go, his lips parted in equal parts wonder and confusion. Her pale pink gown flowed behind her, blown up off the ground by a light breeze. When she looked back to snatch the fabric, her eyes caught his for the briefest second—

And then she turned her head away and scurried inside the house. He found himself smiling at the blush that had covered her cheeks for that split-second their eyes met, one he had been able to see from even a distance.

"She's pretty, is she not?"

Marcus' head whirled around at the sound of Thatcher Grey's voice. If he were Alexandra, he was sure _he'd_ be blushing now, after being caught staring so blatantly after his spouse-to-be. As it was, though, he was not she. So he simply nodded. "She's beautiful." _And so much more. But why did she lie?_

"I know she's not as young as she could be, but I'm sure you'll find the rewards of having a wife nearer to your own age later in life."

"Her age proves not an issue."

"Then what is the issue?"

_The issue is your daughter _lied_ to me, and I can't understand why. _"There is none."

A smile spread over the patriarch's face. "So our arrangement stands, does it?"

Marcus took note of the man standing before him. It took him less than a split-second to agree, lies and all. _Blonde hair does not make an angel, but a face like hers does, _he thought, recalling her embarrassed blush. "Yes." He reached out to shake Thatcher Grey's hand in agreement. "Our arrangement stands."

.

After dispatching Laura to one of the Shepherd, Alexandra hurried to find her older sister. She knew Lady Carolyn's daughter hadn't asked for Laura—the request from her father was merely a polite way of shoving her aside—but she wanted her little sister kept busy anyway. She had matters to speak to Meredith about… if only she were to be found.

It proved a near impossible task for Alexandra to locate her sister, and she became more desperate with each room she visited. She always walked away without spotting the blonde. _How hard is it to find the bride on her own wedding day?_ Her heart immediately sank when she realized she hadn't spotted the groom, either, whilst she'd been conducting her search. Her eyes immediately rose to the ceiling, entirely hopeless but still desperate enough to go looking.

When she reached the top of the steps, she immediately turned down the hall and made for the room at the end. The closer she got, the more sure she was that her hunches were correct. She rapped hurriedly on the door, ignoring the noises from within.

The bedroom went silent all at once, until a strained voice asked, "Who's there?"

"It's Alexandra." She turned the knob but found it locked. _Well, at least they took that precaution._ "Meredith, open the door."

"What do you want?"

"To talk to you!" _What else would I want? _She thought, her impatience leaning towards hysterics. _To join in?_ Alexandra's agitation was seeping into her tone now, and even though she knew it wouldn't budge, she rattled the door nonetheless. "Meredith, please, just for a minute—"

The wooden door was wrenched open before Alexandra even finished speaking, and her sister's head poked through. Her hair was a bit matted, and pieces were falling loose from where they'd been pinned up this morning… Alexandra glanced down, pleased to see that her sister had at least thought to wrap a sheet around her naked body. "Can't you just wait?" She hissed, squeezing herself in between the door and the frame. Her cheeks were flushed, but Alexandra could only hear anger in her voice, not embarrassment.

"I have to talk to you," Alexandra replied. She glanced over her sister's shoulder, but couldn't see Derek. She was grateful for that, though she knew he must be in there somewhere. Meredith hadn't tangled her hair all by herself, and she had definitely heard a man's laughter coming from this room earlier. Alexandra lowered her voice, knowing that at least one other person was listening. "It's about _him_," she told her sister quietly. She looked up at the older girl, beseeching her with desperate brown eyes. "Please, Meredith, I need to talk to you, now. Please."

Meredith stared into those eyes for not more than two seconds before making up her mind. She turned her head, calling back into the room and promising her new husband that she'd be back in a moment. All Alexandra heard from him was a frustrated groan, but he made no move to stop the two. Alexandra didn't spend a moment worrying over him and his needs—she herself was more important right now—and plus, she knew Meredith would make up the difference to him later.

When the reached Alexandra's room down the hall, the first thing she did was shutter the windows. She could see the grounds from her room—now filled with weddings guests that had spilled out from the house—which meant that those on the ground could just as easily look up and see her, from the right angle. …And her sister, wrapped only in a sheet, instead of her pure-white wedding gown. They were married now, so their copulating was not frowned upon as it had been before… But it would not exactly be smiled upon, either, if some were to find out they were doing such upstairs during their own wedding party.

Meredith got straight to the point once their privacy was achieved; Alexandra had no doubts that she wanted back in her own room with her husband as quick as possible. "What did he do, Alexandra?"

"He didn't do anything, Meredith." Alexandra bit her lip. _It was me._

"Well then, what happened?"

Alexandra stared at her sister with pain stretching her skin tight. Her lips were pressed together, her teeth digging into her flesh. Finally, she'd had enough, and buried her head in her hands. "He asked me my name and I… I told him I was Laura," she admitted finally. Her words came out a humiliated groan.

Meredith frowned, confused. She drew her sheet tighter around her. "You what?" She wondered, scratched the back of her head.

"I told him I was Laura, I looked him in the eye and said I saw Laura Grey, oh gods…" She lifted her head from her hands. Her cheeks were flaming with embarrassment. "And then Father showed up and mentioned her, so he knew at once I was lying…"

Meredith closed her eyes, shaking her head. "Oh, Lexie…" She began tiredly.

"I know," Alexandra replied at once, humiliated. "I know it was stupid, I know that, I just—" She broke off suddenly, her voice dying. "You _saw_ him, Meredith," she all but whispered. "I couldn't… face him… as myself."

The blonde cocked her head to the side. "What's that supposed to mean? What's wrong with you?"

Alexandra scowled, turning away. "Oh, don't make me say it."

"Say what?" Meredith wondered.

Alexandra sighed. "You cannot tell me you've seen a more attractive man," she told her sister finally.

Meredith thought for a moment. "Yes, I can," she countered resolutely. "Derek."

Alexandra forced herself not to frown. _Of course she would say Derek. Gods, what else should I have expected? _"You and I have different tastes when it comes to men."

But Meredith didn't seem to hear that. A smile was creeping on her lips already when she wondered, "So what? His beauty overtook you and you forgot your name, was that the way of it?"

Alexandra knew her sister was mocking her, so she didn't feel the need to reply that all of the bride's words, in fact, rang true. "I couldn't concentrate," she muttered finally, under her breath. She knew it wasn't a good excuse, but it was all she had.

Meredith sighed, but an amused smile turned up her lips. "Well, I would say you two are off to a grand start."

Alexandra gaped at her sister incredulously. "How so? If he has any brains, he will have already pegged me for a liar and—"

"You _are _a liar, little sister," Meredith interrupted with a grin. She clutched her sheet with one hand and touched her sister's cheek. "But you're also a girl whose husband-to-be made her forget her own name with just a look…" She grinned. "If not everything works out in your marriage, I have a feeling the most important aspect will, at least."

Alexandra's eyes widened, scandalized. She knew she shouldn't be so shocked at the reference—not with her sister standing in front of her in a bed sheet after having been interrupted mid-coitus—but she was. "Just because I like his face does not mean I want to be naked with him!"

Meredith chuckled, eyeing her sister. "But don't you?" She wondered with a smirk playing on her lips. "Just a _little_ bit?" She laughed when her sister's face twisted as only a maid's would. "Or a lot, you can admit it." Her eyes shone with mirth. "I won't tell, I promise."

If Alexandra had been a violent person, she might've smacked her sister in that moment. As she was not, she ended up simply frowning deeply and saying nothing. Her sister laughed again, quiet and quick, before stepping away and heading to the door to rejoin her now-husband.

"Just be grateful he looks the way he does, sister," Meredith called back to her, her hand on the knob, "for it'll make things that much easier when the time comes."

Even though the phrase was on the tip of her tongue, Alexandra held back from asking her sister, _What things?_ She had heard enough of her sister and Derek behind closed doors to know exactly what she was referring to.

She sighed, and let her sister go. Alexandra remained where she was for a time, until her thoughts finally drew her across the room. She found herself standing in front of the looking glass on the wall, and she spent a few silent minutes studying her reflection. _Pity he won't find me as attractive as I find him._ She took a slow breath. _But then that first night is never hard for men, is it? He can close his eyes and imagine his favorite whore in my place, spend himself, and be done with it._

The thought didn't cheer her, but it at least sent her on her way. When she descended the stairs, she came across Lady Carolyn, who demanded to know when the feast would commence.

_Once my sister and her new husband have had their fill of each other, _she thought but didn't say, _if even reaching such a point proves possible for the two._

Instead, she smiled politely and replied that it should begin momentarily. She offered to lead the old woman to the outdoor seating, and her place of honor at the head table. The matriarch accepted, and was soon taking her seat amongst the other wedding guests who were waiting eagerly to eat. It had been a long day.

Alexandra breathed deep, closing her eyes when she saw that the sun was beginning to fall in the sky. _At least the day is almost over._ She took a deep breath, but it caught somewhere between her mouth and lungs when a hand clamped down on hers. She barely had time to snap her eyes open before she was being led away from the tented pavilion, to privacy with the last person she wanted to be alone with.

"You're not Laura," were the first words that came from his lips.

She drew in a quickly breath, but didn't dare to step away when he released her arm. This was not a time for running, and certainly not a time for more evasions. She knew she could not deny it. "No, my lord, I am not." She kept her eyes trained on the ground, partly out of repentance… but mostly because she was not certain she would be able to look into his eyes and speak at the same time.

"You lied to me."

She frowned at his accusing tone, and her eyes were drawn up to his as if by instinct. "I was surprised," she tried to explain. "I—"

"So you always lie when surprised?"

"I… I…" She stammered off, not having and inking of what the right thing to say was. "I apologize," she managed finally. "I was simply taken unawares."

"…And then thought it would be prudent to hide your true self." He looked at her, his head cocking just slightly to the side as if trying to puzzle her out. "You had to have known I would recognize you the moment we were properly met for the first time. Why lie at the start, then?"

"I—I was not thinking straight, I told you." _You blinded me._

"And why is that?"

Alexandra bit her lip. There was no way she could tell the truth here. Not if she wanted to have any dignity. She swallowed, feeling his intense blue gaze boring through her. She forced herself to look up finally. "Might we move past it?" She wondered politely. "There are many other things we could discuss besides my earlier folly." _If you're still planning on taking me for a wife, that is._

His lips twitched upward at that, and he replied easily, "As you wish, my lady." He stepped forward, and beckoned her to him, holding out his arm. She stared at it, frozen. _You must begin touching him sometime, _someone sounding very much like Meredith counseled her mind softly. _Might as well start with now, when you're both fully clothed and surrounded by onlookers._ She swallowed, stepping forward and gingerly threading her arm through his. Her hand came to rest lightly on his forearm, and she had to resist the urge to clutch it tight—she could not be seen groping him in public, even if it was only to clutch the muscles of his arm the could just barely feel through his sleeves.

"So why did you lie to me?" He asked, mere moments after they had set off towards the far field where they'd first "met."

Her head whipped around to face him immediately, her mouth open and eyes disbelieving. "You said—"

He merely smiled, holding up his left hand in mock surrender. "I'm merely playing with you, don't worry." He eyed her sidelong. "We all have our secrets. I'll let you keep yours…" From the way he trailed off, she knew she'd have to explain herself sooner or later. Before she could come up with an appropriate topic to further the conversation, drums began beating and a group of musicians started up a tune. She looked back at him, wondering if he would keep her out here while the feast went on without them.

She did not like that idea, but thankfully he stopped walking then, and withdrew his arm from hers. She watched him, wary of the next step as he moved to stand in front of her. But all he did was reach down, take her hand in his, and raise it to his lips.

"I enjoyed meeting you, Alexandra Grey," he murmured, pressing his warm mouth to her smooth skin. His eyes were on hers in an instant, and the calm blue-grey of their depths seemed to turn stormy as he looked at her, just as she'd imagined happening earlier. "But you should take care not to lie to me again."

.

_Author's Note: I know we only saw a very small glimpse of their interaction in this chapter, but don't worry, there will be much more in the next chapter! …And in all the ones that will follow it. :)_

_Thank you all for reading! Please be kind and leave me a review with your thoughts!_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6:**

_Author's Note: Thank you all for your reviews! I'm so happy you were all pleased with their first meeting :D On another note, I'm very sorry I took so long to update. I had some problems with this chapter, and though I know it's not the best, it's the best I can come up with at this point and I know I need to publish. I hope you all like it; it picks up right where the last chapter left off._

_._

The rest of the night passed without incident.

After the feast came the dancing, and after that, everyone knew, the send-off. But to Alexandra… It was as if nothing had happened before she met him out by the fields, nor nothing since.

He wasn't like the rest of them. He wasn't like anyone she'd ever met. (She didn't linger on the fact that she hadn't met many people.) She couldn't stop thinking about him, but more importantly—as she saw it and as she was sure _everyone _saw it—she couldn't stop thinking about how she didn't measure up, and how their match was nothing close to equal. She had suspected the arrangement was a reach when she'd started hearing of the Sloans' abundant wealth… But now seeing him in person, it wasn't the difference in riches that struck her; it was the physical differences between the two.

Feeling his constant gaze on her all night didn't help matters, either.

She had been eating the first course—a creamy soup with a base of peas—when something made her look up. Nothing was wrong or out of place—in front of their elevated head table the guests were all eating, joking, and laughing amongst themselves. She looked to Meredith and Derek at the center, but they—for once—were acting just as normal as everyone else. Only when her eyes drifted to Lord Shepherd's right did she realize what was wrong.

She drew in a breath at the look on his face, and her previously moist mouth went dry as an old bone. Those grey-blue eyes she'd admired before were doing nothing close to reciprocating her now. She met his eyes for less than a split-second, but in that brief moment she knew beyond a doubt that he was inspecting her. Sizing her up. Judging her.

And she was more than certain that he'd look away wanting more… if he would ever look away.

The soup was taken away—Alexandra stopped eating it after she realized he was watching her—and then came out one of the main courses, a small roasted bird with a side of blackened vegetables. She picked at it, taking bites here and there, but just like this morning, she didn't have the stomach to eat. Where anxious nerves had woken her up at dawn then, the knowledge that she was so much less than desirable in his eyes kept her stomach roiling. The differences were obvious, and yet she couldn't stop focusing on them: Her family was nowhere near as wealthy as his; her beauty did not even hold a candle to his… _And he knows I'm a liar, too, on top of it all._

She frowned at the thought, pushing the next course around her plate, but still she couldn't stop herself from remembering some of the last words he'd said to her. _I enjoyed meeting you, Alexandra. _And then he told her not to lie. But he _was _lying himself—she could see it in his eyes, the way they narrowed whenever they caught sight of her—there was no way he had honestly enjoyed making her acquaintance. _Why had he lied too?_ She shook her head, lost, as that plate was taken away and the next brought.

Her mind was still wrestling that problem when her body was saved from its rigid posture. With his eyes on her at what seemed to be all times, she hadn't dared slouch for fear of looking even worse than she already appeared. But now, thank the gods, was a reprieve. The musicians had already started up by the time Meredith and Derek got to their feet. Alexandra's elder sister was all happy smiles as her husband led her to the space that had been cleared and floored for dancing. In seconds they were twirling and waltzing across the floor, and soon enough, many others were on their feet and joining them. She looked to her right, expecting to find his eyes on her again, expecting to see him rising to his feet to ask her for a dance as well, but now his were cast down at the table. Alexandra frowned for a moment, studying him. He seemed to be examining the table's white cloth as closely as he'd been examining her, and not paying a lick of attention to the dancers. Alexandra took this as a sign that he wasn't going to partake, nor ask her to do such, so she grabbed her little sister's hand and led her to the floor. Though she was relieved he hadn't immediately propositioned her for a dance, part of her was a bit disappointed.

Alexandra loved dancing.

There was something about the beat of the drums, the rise and fall of the strings, and clapping and stamping of feet that always made her smile. Even when she was in a bad mood, or anxious beyond belief—as she was tonight—Alexandra had found that she could always escape the world and her problems by disappearing into a dance. Swirling around the floor made her lightheaded in a good way, and it made no matter if she was the one leading or the one following.

This time she was leading, as she'd done with Laura since the girl had been big enough to walk. Her light brown hair bounced on her head, drawn up in curls and pinned as it was, as she all but hopped and skipped to the other dancers, following behind her older sister. The dance was a lively one, full of claps and spins, accentuated by delighted laughter. Alexandra went a few turns with her sister before letting her go; there were more than a few young men here and it was clear that the youngest Grey was the center of much of their attention.

Just as Alexandra was stepping to the outskirts of the dance floor, she felt a presence behind her. There were hundreds of bodies around, it was true, but this one was different. Her whole being seized up, consumed with fear, anxiety, and—she had to admit—a bit of excitement… _It's him._

But when she turned towards the figure, it was only her sister Meredith. Alexandra couldn't help her expression from falling a bit, even as her heart slowed down to its usual pace and the nerves disappeared. Meredith frowned, immediately noting her sister's change in mood. She leaned forward to whisper in her sister's ear over the din of the music. "Something wrong?"

Alexandra shook her head, plastering a smile on her face. "No." She looked back to the dancers for a moment before adding, as offhandedly as she could, "I thought you were someone else."

She felt a pinch at her waist then, and she forced her smile not to widen reflexively. "You mean someone like that handsome, brooding man over there?" Meredith wondered cheekily, nodding towards the seat Marcus Sloan was currently occupying, staring off into the distance now instead of the tablecloth. Alexandra wondered for a moment as she watched him, how he was so easily able to completely ignore all the revelry around him. It wasn't that he just wasn't taking part—he actually didn't seem to see the festivities around him. He didn't seem to see anything, actually.

She was just slightly leaning forward—as if doing so would give her a better view of him or explain his behavior—when his eyes suddenly flickered to hers. Alexandra rocked back on her heels at the contact. He felt so close; even with a large crowd between them, she still felt the need to take an immediate step back. _You should also breathe, _Alexandra reminded herself. _Breathe and look away._

.

Marcus's eyes were snapped from hers when someone _thunk_ed down into the chair next to him as loudly as possible. "Derek," he said slowly, just briefly looking over to make sure it really was the groom before turning back to seek out her eyes again. But she was gone now; her back was to him as she and her sister began conversing. He ignored Meredith Grey—_now Shepherd, _he corrected himself with a smirk—when she tried to catch his eye. He turned in his chair to speak with the groom.

The new-made husband was grinning like a teenager who'd stumbled into a brothel for the first time. Marcus immediately laughed at his obvious happiness, but Derek let that slide with a shake of his head.

"Enjoying yourself tonight, are you?" Marcus smiled, reclining back in his chair a bit.

Something mischievous entered Derek Shepherd's eyes as he reached for his wine. Over his cup, he replied, "I enjoyed myself earlier this afternoon, actually."

Marcus snorted, turning his head to find the bride. She'd disappeared within the throng of dancers, though, and so—to his disappointment—had her sister. "Of course you did," he replied, a moment too late, knowing exactly what his friend wasn't saying aloud. For all the propriety and decorum that surrounded Derek Shepherd, it had become increasingly clear over these last few years that he became a much more impetuous and all-around careless person when it came to his dealings with Meredith. Marcus was never sure if this was a good or a bad thing, but it had an entertainment value through the roof, so he never bothered to bring it up.

Derek's smile was a bit too wide for Marcus's taste when he looked back over—he knew that look in his eye was about something more than passionate trysts with his newly wedded wife. Before he could think of a way to interject, Derek wondered, grinning all the while, "You like her, don't you?"

"I like the way she looks," Marcus corrected, as if it was necessary. Everyone knew he knew next to nothing about her and that appearance was all he had to go on and judge her by.

"I told you she was pretty," Derek replied, lifting his glass triumphantly in the direction of the dancers.

Marcus refrained from describing her in a different way. And he didn't mention how she'd lied to him or what she'd said after. As close as he and Derek were, this didn't seem to be a matter that his best friend would understand or appreciate. Marcus frowned, realizing that he didn't want to share this—share _her_, even just the _idea _of her—with his closest friend. His mouth twisted even further downward at the thought. He couldn't remember the last time he'd ever deliberately held something back from his brother. He wondered if such a time had ever occurred between them.

"Have you talked to her?" Derek wondered. He leaned forward slightly; he was interested in why Alexandra had been so adamant in seeking out her sister earlier. No doubt it had something to do with the man sitting in front of him. He smiled to himself momentarily. At least Meredith had made up for her momentary absence.

"I have."

Derek sighed, obviously wanting more detail than his friend's crisp words.

Marcus bit back a sigh as well. He knew he wasn't being helpful. He wasn't even being hospitable, really, or amicable… But was it really his fault that Derek had chosen his own wedding to introduce him to this Alexandra? What had the man expected would happen?

Part of him hated being so blindsided like that; part of him wanted a little warning. The other part of him thought it was perfect, thought she was perfect, lies and all.

"I enjoyed speaking with her," he added a moment later, taking pity on his curious friend. That was the bulk of the truth, he decided. Though he had spent most of the meal trying to figure her out—chiefly, trying to figure out why she'd lied in the first place—he had to admit that their short conversation _had _been enjoyable… even with the lie. "She's different," he continued, letting his eyes drift down to the dancers. Whatever set the musicians had been playing seemed to draw to an end, and the pavilion shook with whoops of appreciation and drawn-out applause. He thought he spotted her for a moment, but then a few men standing in front of her shifted in their places, and she was blocked from his view again.

Derek was looking smug when Marcus turned his attention back over again. "I knew you'd like her," he smiled proudly.

Marcus didn't reply; he was certain _anyone _would like her. She seemed to be that kind of person, he thought, watching as his friend got to his feet and dusted himself off, that drew the attention and affections of everyone around her. And though he barely knew her yet, he was somehow certain that it was not only to do with her captivating beauty. There was something about her, something else…

"You must excuse me," Derek stated, interrupting his friend's thoughts and swallowing the rest of his wine in one gulp. "But I believe there are a few dances I have to attend to, one of them including your beloved."

Marcus rolled his eyes, but didn't bother expelling the energy to make a face at the endearment. "Have fun," he called instead, his voice dry and unamused. But he smirked as his friend passed by his chair on the way to the dancers. "You can be sure I won't put up with foolishness such as this at my wedding."

"What a bleak affair that will be," Derek laughed, slapping his friend on the back. "And yet somehow I still can't wait."

.

If Derek Shepherd had had a choice, he wouldn't have asked the middle Grey for a dance. He wouldn't have gone within five feet of her. But as custom and courtesy stood, it was near writ in stone that he owed her as much, and she him. He was polite—as _always_—when he asked for the honor, and Alexandra made an effort to accept as graciously as she could. But her smile felt stiff on her mouth before even a third of the dance had passed. She decided to give it a break, and parted her lips to speak.

"Has Lord Sloan spoken to you?" She could still feel his eyes on hers from earlier, though she was too afraid to find out if he was imagining his heavy gaze or truly feeling it herself.

Derek struggled not to smirk, and eyed her innocently. There was just something about her that he couldn't help but tease. He grinned a second later, realizing that she was much like Mark in that regard. "You mean about you, my lady?" His teeth gleamed in the candlelight when he smiled, and once again, she had the unsurprising urge to hit him. Alexandra looked away then, to hold herself back, and Derek took the opportunity to ignore her question and pose his own. "Why?" He wondered. "Has he spoken to you?"

Her returning nod seemed stiff and much too shallow for Derek's taste, though he couldn't puzzle out what such would hint at. "Yes, we spoke." He waited for her to continue, but when it became clear that she wouldn't, he was forced to prompt her. It annoyed him how close-mouthed the both of them were being. He remember when he'd first met Meredith; all he'd wanted to do was talk about her. Meredith had admitted the same for herself, and with the two so similar, he reasoned that it should be the same for Alexandra. Apparently not.

"And…?" He pressed.

"And nothing," Alexandra snapped, her tone as harsh as it had been that day she'd overheard the now-married couple arguing over her future husband. "Nothing," she repeated again, just as harshly, as if he hadn't gotten the message. _You don't deserve to know._

"Well, he talked with me," Derek offered, not having any idea why he was indulging her when she was being nothing but surly. It would do her well to be kept in the dark for a time, he reasoned, but the pull teasing her and Mark brought was just too irresistible. "He seemed excited to meet you," he continued.

That nearly stopped her in her tracks. Only his guiding hand on her waist kept her moving, though she was a step behind by the time she managed to utter, "He d—did?"

Derek Shepherd forced himself not to smile, and only nodded in confirmation. "He liked talking to you, he said." His lips flickered into a smile as he looked across the room to find his friend, still longing at the table he'd occupied the entire night. "'Enjoyed' was his word, actually."

Alexandra had a queer expression on her face when Derek's eyes returned to her. It looked to be a mixture of fear, disbelief, and something akin to excitement, maybe even hope. It didn't fade as he stared at her, and when he finally looked over his shoulder to follow her gaze, he couldn't help but smile when he saw what—or more accurately, _who_—had captivated her attention and brought about such a strange look to her face.

"You enjoyed talking to him as well, I take it?" Derek wondered, smirking when her eyes suddenly snapped back to his. Her mouth opened and closed, and when her cheeks began pinking in embarrassment at being caught, he decided it would be better to drop the subject and leave her there. He found Meredith when he looked over Alexandra's shoulder; she was holding her little sister's hand and motioning him over with just the look in her eyes. Conveniently, the dance was just drawing to a close at that point. The two parted easily, with a bow and a curtsy, and took their leave of one another.

While Derek made a beeline for his bride and her little sister, effortlessly moving through the crowd, Alexandra took a much more roundabout route, struggling between the tightly packed dancers. When she arrived, finally, at Meredith's side, it was accompanied by a sigh of relief. Relief at being away from Derek, relief at being away from _him, _and relief at finally having a moment alone with her sister, which she had been hoping for all night. With all the guests caught up in the dancing—it was a fast one now, and Alexandra could hear her little sister laughing aloud as the groom spun her around the crowded floor—with all that commotion, it was easy for her quiet words to be overlooked by others.

"He said he enjoyed talking with me," Alexandra whispered in her sister's ear, leaning as close as she could so there would be no question of anyone overhearing.

Meredith smiled, but her eyes remained on her husband and her youngest sister. "That's good," she replied after a moment. Her eyes flickered only briefly to the middle Grey when she asked, "Why do you look so worked up over it?" She smiled to herself, chuckling for a bit before adding, before Alexandra could reply, "I know enjoyment may be a foreign emotion to you, Lexie, but it is a rather good one, trust me. For instance, all the people here are enjoying themselves? See the smiles and the laughter? That should tip you off."

Alexandra frowned at the teasing condescension in her sister's voice. "I know what 'enjoyment' means," she muttered, annoyed. "And Lexie's not my name, you know that." Meredith didn't even bother rolling her eyes at the complaint; they both knew she would go on calling Alexandra that for as long as she liked. In fact, the younger Grey's annoyance at the nickname only made Meredith use it more frequently. Alexandra knew she should simply stop caring, or at least stop Meredith finding out that she cared, but they'd lived together for almost two decades now. Meredith could see through her as easily as looking through a polished windowpane.

The bride's quiet laughter brought Alexandra out of her thoughts. "I can't believe he was stupid enough to go so far as to say he liked speaking with you after you lied to his face like that," she laughed.

"It was an accident!" Alexandra protested hotly. She could already feel her face heating up. "It was an accident," she repeated, firmer and quieter this time. "I told you and you know it. It was an accident."

Meredith waved a hand, suddenly disinterested. "Yes, yes, an accident. Well and good."

Alexandra was about to tell her sister off for being so distracted and absentminded in her replies, but then she realized what had been happening around them. Moments ago, the music had stopped—probably while she had been arguing her case—and with it, the dancing had ceased. And now Lord Shepherd was walking towards them, a smile on his lips and in his eyes. Alexandra realized immediately what was about to happen, and knowing it would be her last chance, she whispered in her sister's ear, "You must come and visit me before the wedding." She stepped back without another word, giving her sister space as she welcomed her groom and was prepared to be walked to the waiting carriage which would lead them to his home where they'd consummate their marriage. If she hadn't been waiting on her sister's reply, it would have all seemed rather silly—that this both serious and happy moment would be so anticipated.

Hadn't the others realized that her sister had already been deflowered? And that their marriage already _had _been consummated today? It hadn't been proper—not in a proper bed, or a proper setting, nor at the proper time—but barely anything Meredith and Derek did together was ever proper. This wedding was the epitome of respectability for them, but somehow they'd managed to defile it less than an hour after they left the church.

It made Alexandra smile a bit, to tell the truth. Though the two grated on her nerves sometimes—and denied her sleep anytime they spent the night at home—she was happy they were together. She had thought about it, but honestly—she couldn't imagine one without the other. She couldn't remember when it had began, but for what seemed like an eternity now, they'd been _Meredith and Derek._ They were not two separate entities, not two separate beings, and they rarely acted as such. Alexandra vaguely wondered if that had to do with the amount of time they really did spend as _one _entity. She took a breath, remembering how Meredith had told her, after she'd given her maidenhead to Derek, what it'd been like. She hated admitting it—even to herself—but she still held fears about that. Fears that had only grown and multiplied after she saw him for the first time, and then met him. She knew with certainty she wouldn't match up to anyone he'd been with before. She tried telling herself that it didn't matter—surely he knew she'd never been with anyone, that she didn't know anything. …But the thought of approaching that first night alone with someone like _him_ still made her stomach twist in the most uncomfortable knots.

So she couldn't have been more relieved when, just as Meredith was leaving to reenact said occasion, she looked over her shoulder to catch her sister's eye. It was just a moment, but in that moment, she gave a very clear and pointed nod before facing forward again. Alexandra, couldn't have been happier. She could actually _feel _her heart lighten in her breast, she could _feel _it begin to soar through her body. She wouldn't be alone before her wedding. She wouldn't be unprepared. Meredith would tell her what to do and she would be ready, for him and for anything.

.

The crowd of wedding guests followed behind the couple like a great, slow-moving stampede. There were some shouts of encouragement, a few bawdy jokes, and one or two lewd but laughable comments as the two headed to the carriage that had been pulled around just for their use.

It was custom for all the guests to follow the bride and groom out—the two led the procession to their new home, while all their friends and family retired to their own homes after a long celebration. As Alexandra followed the guests at a slow pace—falling back as all the others surged forward—she couldn't help but wonder if a scene like this would play out at her wedding. As she continued to walk forward slowly, she realized that _he_ would probably be leaving soon too. She had never really thought about it before (and had had no reason to think about it) but it would make sense for the Right Hand to follow directly behind the groom and his bride away from wedding party. Alexandra felt her strides quicken at the thought that he might already be gone, and soon enough, she was close enough to see him—and Meredith and Derek—as they all settled into their carriages and prepared for their respective rides home. Meredith and Derek were smiling and waving to their guests as they readied for departure, but that was not where Alexandra's eye was drawn. She looked to him, and almost felt her heart stop when she saw that his cool blue gaze was focused on her already. Once again, she got that odd feeling that he'd been looking at her for some time, but that she'd only now noticed.

She immediately took a few steps forward—as if doing so would bridge the space and eliminate the people between them—but of course it accomplished next to nothing. She didn't even know _why _she wanted to clear that area between them; she didn't know _why _she wanted to be close to him after spending so much time avoiding him and his tracking gaze. Alexandra suddenly felt very childish—yearning for a man's attention only _after_ he'd already diverted it. It was like when she was a girl, and she'd thrown away a toy only to be incensed with envy when Meredith or Laura picked it up to play with.

As she watched him settle into his seat, she found herself recalling that lone and polite—yet somehow very intimate—touch they'd shared. She could still feel the warmth of his mouth and faint scratch of his beard when he'd kissed her hand earlier that night before he'd left her. She found herself wishing—despite the distance and the crowds and the fear she couldn't quite squash—that he would do it again. But all he did was look at her, long and hard, before the carriage lurched to a start and pulled away, following behind Meredith and Derek's, off into the night.

.

It was only later, after all the guests had left and Alexandra was departing from her father's presence to head to bed, that her previous—and _fleeting_—wants were answered.

"He'll be visiting, you know." Thatcher Grey said the words around a yawn, and for a moment Alexandra turned back to stare at him. She was certain she hadn't heard him right, or didn't understand—he wasn't the only one trying to stifle a yawn. But then all the tiredness left her when she realized what he was saying.

And then, all she could do was dumbly repeat what he'd said. "Visiting?" She wondered, feeling her mind somehow speed up and slow down at the exact same time as it focused on the man who'd already left. "He'll be…" She swallowed the conflicting feelings welling up inside her. "He'll be visiting?"

Thatcher Grey was more than tired by now, so he simply sighed, as if to say, _Yes, of course he'll be visiting._ He didn't say any of that aloud, though. Part of Alexandra registered that he must've been too tired to do so.

"When?"

"When he and I deem appropriate," Thatched Grey replied. He suddenly seemed to remember who he was speaking to then, and he leaned forward, peering at her. "Why?" He wondered, his tired eyes searching her face. "Do you not like him?"

"I—" Alexandra immediately broke off, realizing halfway through voicing the word that she had no idea what to say. _I like him _and _I don't like him _were both lies. Neither blanket statement held the whole truth, not as she saw it. But that would be much too time-consuming to explain to her father at a time like this… or at all. In the end, she simply nodded, as if to acknowledge that she had, in fact, heard what he'd said, and replied, "I look forward to spending more time with him."

That wasn't a lie.

_Or, at least, it wasn't at the time, _Alexandra thought to herself, hours later, as she laid awake in bed. Laura had wandered in not ten minutes after she and her father had retired to their separate rooms, and she was still here, cuddled against her older sister's side underneath a couple thin blankets. The girl had mumbled something about the house being lonely without Meredith, and Alexandra had waved her inside before the girl even finished her excuse. The window on the far wall was propped open to let in a breeze, but it didn't do much to deter the summer heat. Laura's little body was pressed right up against hers, and the warmth emanating from it was enough to make Alexandra sweat. And the direction her thoughts were going didn't help matters.

She couldn't stop thinking about the conversation she'd had with her father, which inevitably led to thoughts about _him, _which nearly always made her break out in a sweat. She didn't know why he made her so nervous—especially when he wasn't even _here._ It didn't make sense. _It just didn't_, she tell herself again and again, as if that would make the knots in her stomach unravel or the ache behind her forehead lessen.

She knew she should be grateful—a rich, handsome man had taken a very serious interest in her—but she just couldn't look past the base facts. He was a strange, unfamiliar person, and for all his wealthy and beauty, the fact remained that she was consenting to letting a man she barely knew deflower her… and then spend the rest of his life with her. And he would be visiting soon.

Alexandra swallowed. Just that lone thought sent her heart to beating faster.

She shifted in bed, wondering how she would sleep tonight.

Weeks later, she was still wondering, and when the morning of his scheduled visit dawned, she could not remember once shutting her eyes the night prior.

.

_Author's Note: Reviews, as always, are greatly appreciated! Again, I apologize for the lateness of this chapter. Thank you for reading._


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7:**

_Author's Note: Thank you all for your reviews! I was going to post last night, but I went out with a friend instead of polishing it off… Sorry. ;) I hope you guys enjoy this chapter._

_._

It was a month later that he first called.

Alexandra watched him from her window, leaning to the side so those down below couldn't see her. She took a series of deep breaths, watching as he stepped out of the carriage and surveyed the land and building surrounding him. She couldn't tell if he was pleased or displeased with her home, but she figured it wouldn't mater. He was here, wasn't he? And it wasn't as if they'd be living _here_ after they were married.

That thought sent Alexandra's heart to beating quicker. Where _would _they live? She closed her eyes as she silently chastised herself. That was just one of a score of questions she should've asked Lord Shepherd when she'd had the chance. But that smug, self-satisfied face of his… Just thinking of him made her scrunch her nose in annoyance, so she quickly reverted her attention to the man who _really _mattered, the one that was now being approached by her father.

She watched them greet each other and share a few pleasantries before she decided that it was probably time for her to greet their—well, _her_—guest. Alexandra took another deep breath and stepped a few paces to the mirror. She'd kept her hair down today, originally because she hadn't wanted to worry about pieces falling loose as she talked with him; but now she sighed, frowning. She looked too plain. She always looked too plain.

After a few seconds, though, she realized it was, unfortunately, a lost cause. He was already here and she didn't have time to have Sarah or any other maid do up her hair while he waited. Alexandra closed her eyes briefly, turned from the mirror, and made her way downstairs to formally meet her fate.

.

Marcus had been in the middle of conversing with Thatcher Grey when the man broke off abruptly. Confused, Marcus was going to ask why the other man had stopped speaking, but he got his very welcome answer before he could even voice his question.

"Alexandra." Thatcher's worn face spread in a wide smile as he watched his daughter approach. Marcus immediately pivoted around to face her, only half-caring about how eager he appeared to be laying eyes on her again.

He wasn't sure how it was possible, but she somehow looked more beautiful today than she had been when he first saw her at the wedding. The idea confused him, for he was not one to be incredibly appreciative of natural beauty, nor to like simple girls. So it surprised him greatly when he saw that not only did her everyday looks match the refined ones she had sported for her sister's wedding, but—in fact—surpassed them.

All of this swirled through his mind in mere seconds; when he came to his ending conclusions, he started to wonder what _she _thought of him. It was odd—very, very odd, actually—that he couldn't tell just by looking at her. She was hiding something in those dark brown eyes of hers, he was certain, but he had no idea what it was. It could be loathing or it could be love, and Marcus regretted to admit he wasn't sure he would know the difference.

Most women he met he could peg easily. One look was all it took, and then he knew. This one was hoping to further her position, this one simply wanted to fuck and have him take her mind off of things, and a third was always hopelessly in love with him. He couldn't help but smirk a bit at the memories. Those were the worst; the ones that convinced themselves he and she were in love. Somehow he doubted this Alexandra would delude herself so easily, but if he had learned one thing over the years, it was that women were unpredictable. That trait was only compounded, of course, when its driving force was love or hate… and it was even worse when both were involved.

She was slowing to a halt now, just a few paces ahead of him, and Marcus idly wondered how long it would take her to decide which path she would choose: love or hate. His would always be indifferent, of course, but he wasn't sure she would be able to match him there. Women were never able to stay indifferent the way men were. Yes, she'd pick one road or the other, he was sure of it…

…But he just wasn't quite ready to admit to himself that he already knew the answer. He always knew the answer.

Just because he wanted her to be different, just because he _felt _that she was different… None of that meant that she really _was _different than any of the others. She would end up hating him, he knew it, just like everyone else had. Like his parents, his friends, his lovers and paramours…

He clenched his jaw so he wouldn't think of Addison, and focused on what Thatcher Grey was saying. _It does no good to dwell on what is past, _he reminded himself, most like for the hundredth time. He waited in vain for the message to sink in. It was only when he centered his gaze on Alexandra's that he forgot about _her_. Involuntarily, he felt a smile take shape on his lips.

Maybe this marriage would be good for something after all.

.

"I know you have already met, but…" Thatcher paused, sweeping an arm towards his daughter. "Marcus Sloan, may I present my daughter, Alexandra?"

Her father said what should have been a statement as a question, but that didn't bother Alexandra. To her, it somehow still seemed that everything was still writ in sand and not yet in stone, so the uncertainty of a question felt welcome. She kept her eyes lowered to the ground as she curtsied deeply, wondering when it would all become real. She hoped it would happen before they were standing side-by-side at the altar. By then, it would all be too late.

"I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Alexandra." He paused, and the edge of his mouth turned up in what might've been a half-smile. She hoped he wasn't thinking of how she'd lied to him; she hoped she was imagining his emphasis on her name. "Again," he added after a moment.

She tried to smile, but she was sure it only came out a grimace. "And yours," she replied politely, trying not to let her voice shake. She took as deep a breath she could, realizing that shaking was not an option anymore. Neither was hesitating. She was not scared, not worried, not apprehensive. She was the oldest now and she would be brave.

As if on cue, her little sister took that moment to casually walk past the threshold—no doubt hoping to be spotted and introduced—and was rewarded.

"Ah, Laura," Thatcher called, and Alexandra immediately felt flushed with embarrassment. _Not now, _she thought, her eyes flying to her father's so they didn't have to meet his. _Why now?_ "There's a guest I'd like you to meet, dear."

The girl smiled, pleased with herself, and walked up. She halted by her sister's side, just brushing her arm against Alexandra's as she curtsied. "Hello, sir."

Alexandra stared at the ground as her father made introductions again, but finally managed to look up at their visitor just as he was straightening up. There was something playing in his eyes when he looked at her, and wondered with a crafty smirk, "So _this _is Laura?"

Alexandra bit the inside of her lip hard, almost hard enough to draw blood, and hoped her cheeks didn't blush redder (though she knew they did). "This is my younger sister," she managed to reply, ignoring his implication and avoiding his eyes.

"I'm happy to meet you finally," Laura smiled, sounding much more eager than Alexandra herself had at the very same prospect. She took another steadying breath as the man she would marry responded with polite words. She could feel his eyes on her while he spoke.

Luckily, her father intervened a moment later. He shepherded her sister aside and indoors, all the while remarking on how beautiful a day it was. Alexandra knew it was a cue that she was to spend some time with their guest on a stroll of some sort, but the idea was so unappealing she had half a mind to run inside herself. But she knew that wasn't an option. Steeling herself, she leveled her eyes with his and tried not to flinch away. She was, once again, completely awestruck by him, and unable to understand all the thoughts and feelings whizzing through her mind. One moment she was sure she wanted nothing to do with him, and the next, she wouldn't have minded if they were to spend hours and hours alone.

.

She was not an easy person to read.

Right now it was simply amusing not to be able to figure her out, like a game… But part of him wondered when the novelty of such a game and its person would wear off and the annoyance and frustration would set in. For now, though, he smiled and offered his arm to her. "Shall we?"

She took his arm wordlessly, and the two set off around the side of the Grey's home. He didn't know if she didn't want to speak or simply didn't know what to say, so he began with the simplicities.

"I'm sure you're very aware of the fact that we're to be married." She stared straight ahead as she nodded, denying him a verbal response. He bit back a sigh, wondering if he'd have to force her to speak, force her to even look at him. "Well… Is there anything you'd like to ask me before then?"

_That _drew her attention. Her head turned completely to the side to look at him, and then a moment later—as if she'd realized what she'd done—she quickly faced forward again.

Obviously she had something more than that one elusive lie that she felt the need to hide from him.

He did sigh this time, and realized that if she was ever going to speak, he would indeed have to force her by posing direct questions. "You were married before?"

"Betrothed." Her correction came immediately, and oddly, a bit strongly. Her voice softened, though, when she repeated the word. "I was betrothed," she replied. "Not married."

Marcus nodded, remembering now. He frowned slightly—it had been stupid of him to assume that she was a widow. Derek had told him of her circumstances, he just hadn't remembered.

"He died," she continued, her voice sounding strangely dethatched. He pondered over her tone for a moment before recalling wholly his conversation with Derek. She hadn't really known the man, Derek had said. Therefore it wasn't surprising that she wouldn't sound grief-stricken anymore, not this long after the war…

But he had to be sure. He couldn't allow her into his life while she was still nursing old wounds… no matter how much of a hypocrite such a demand made him.

.

His next question took Alexandra completely by surprise, and try as she might, she couldn't help but stare at him in shock as he asked, "Was there feeling?"

_Feeling?_ She took a breath, struggling to swallow the lump in her throat. _Yes. _It felt very much like her heart had risen in her chest and was attempted to escape out her mouth. Suddenly, she felt his eyes on her, more intense than before. She met them, and her feet faltered to a stop. There was no choice but to tell the truth. She couldn't lie, not again, not about this. She knew, somehow, that if she _did_ lie… he would know. His blue eyes pierced through her, and seemed to read her mind and know her soul as the Father and Mother Above did. She held her breath. She had no idea how she would do this everyday: look into his eyes and speak.

Nonetheless, she forced herself to do so now, hoping it might become easier with time. "S—Some. We… We met once."

He nodded once, curt, before turning away. He continued walking, and she could do naught but stare at him, confused by his response. She remembered her feet soon, and hastened to catch up. His strides were long and powerful, even on what should be a leisurely walk. She was nearly sweating.

"What was he like?" He wondered suddenly.

Alexandra's eyes flew to his, surprised, but she quickly focused them forward again when she answered. _Handsome_, Alexandra almost said. But she caught herself—using such a word to describe what George had been, as callous as it might make her, would be an insult to the man standing before her now. "Plain," she managed finally. "But kind, he had a kind face, and a kind demeanor. He…" She took a breath, but found that, strangely, speaking of George didn't twist at her heart or bring tears to her eyes anymore. She almost caught herself smiling as she told him, "He was from three villages over. We'd never met before… The second he saw me, he proposed."

_What a lackwit, _Marcus might've thought… if only it were any other woman in the world talking. As things stood now, he couldn't blame this George for proposing on the spot. _I would've, _he thought to himself with the ghost of a smile just barely tipping up the corners of his lips. It took a second. _I did._

"So you see…" She hastened to explain and do away with the silence between them. She didn't want him thinking over this anymore than was absolutely necessary. "You won't—won't be marrying a widow." She didn't know why she felt the need to make this clear—to make him understand that she and George had been nothing more than two children promised to one another—but she just had to tell him. "Just, just a girl who's betrothed saw his Final Day sooner than she saw hers, that's who you'll be marrying." _If you don't want to walk away right now, that is._

"I know whom I'm marrying." His cool voice made something lodge in her throat, and she wondered briefly what sins she had, in his eyes, that she must atone for. _We weren't married, _she wanted to tell him again. _We didn't do anything. We never even kissed. _But then his tone softened, and when he looked at her, he seemed a different person. "Do you know whom _you're_ marrying?"

_No _was the obvious answer. _No _was the correct answer. But she couldn't say no. She took a breath. "Yes, of course."

She could swear he almost smiled. His blue eyes seemed to dance for a moment, amused. He leaned closer, as if sharing a secret. "Do you, truly?"

"Yes." She was proud for sounding more confident this time, but of course that only backfired.

"When was I born, then?"

She stared at him, dumfounded. _If he were a gentleman, he would not press me so. He knows I do not know him._

He looked to be taunting her as he asked, "You said you knew me, well… When was I born?"

"In…" She bit her lip, struggling for a time or date or month. "Winter," she finally settled on, too nervous not to answer. "In the winter."

His mouth twitched just momentarily into a smirk at her evasion, but he quickly continued instead of commenting. "How old am I?"

"Old," she replied immediately, hoping her confident rush would distract him from the fact that she hadn't offered a concrete answer to any of his questions yet. A second too late she realized her mistake.

"Old?" He laughed aloud, his wide grin mocking her as his blue eyes danced with amusement.

She couldn't help blushing at her error, but she managed to smile a little in return, stammering, "I—I meant to say 'old_er_.' Older. You are old_er _than, than me. Older," she repeated again, as if the word needed to be said a fourth time for him to hear it.

He _did _smile now, wide and full, and it nearly took her breath away. She had not seen many well-bred men recently; not only did he have all his teeth, each was perfectly straight and very white. Despite herself, Alexandra thought that she could get used to seeing him smile. "Of course that's what you meant, I have no doubt." He regarded her for a moment, and the smile faded. She wondered how she could call it back, but he had already moved on. "What is my middle name?"

Alexandra wracked her brain. She could say any name, she knew, but she wanted one that would fit. Eventually, she just gave up, unable to find one, and replied quietly, "I do not know, my lord."

"So you admit you do not know me?"

She swallowed, struggling to keep her calm. "We have only just met, as you well know." She glanced at him. "But… There is plenty of time for us to get to know each other after we are wed. We don't need to know everything about each other now."

He studied her for a moment, digesting her words. Something about the way she said them bothered him. They were too stilted, as if she were reciting them on command. He frowned, but returned quietly, without protest, "That is true."

She licked her lips, staring at him. He had been studying her for too long and she didn't know why. Before she could venture a guess, though, he began walking again, and she had to rush to keep up. He was talking before she could even catch her breath.

"Well, to answer my own questions, as I'm sure you're curious…" That smile flashed across his face for a split second, and then was gone as he continued: "I was born in the spring, actually, not the winter. On the twenty-third day of April. As of this moment, that makes me thirty-and-three." He paused, looking over at her, and slowing his gait a bit. "Answer the same about yourself." When she hesitated, he nodded towards her. "Go on," he added, and she knew the encouragement was more an order than a request.

Alexandra took a breath, studying her feet as she spoke, and watching the ground pass beneath them. "I was born on the fifth day of December, the last month before the year turns. I'll be twenty the next time my name day comes." She drew another breath. "My middle name is Caroline. It was my grandmother's name, on my mother's side." She paused, looking up finally and meeting his eyes. "You never told me your middle name."

Half of his mouth turned up in a close-lipped smile. "No, I did not."

Something in the finality of his tone told her not to ask, but still she noted, "I told you mine."

"You did."

"And you're still not going to tell me yours?" She wondered, getting a little annoyed at the evasion. _How hard is it to tell someone your middle name?_

"You still won't tell me why you lied to me when we met," he shot back.

Color rose to her cheeks as she immediately looked away to save herself further embarrassment. "It was nothing," she mumbled into the breeze.

He waited until she looked back at him to inform her, "Still, I'd like to know." His serious voice matched his ever-serious eyes, and for a moment she really thought about telling him. But the humiliation she knew she would endure for admitting the truth was just too much. So instead, she focused on what else he'd divulged about himself.

"You look younger than thirty-and-three," she admitted.

Interest flickered across his face at the change in subject, and after a moment, he replied, "Most would say I look older, not younger." He paused before adding, "And much older at that." Sighting the confusion on her face, he lifted a free hand to indicate his greying hair.

"I like your hair the way it is," she found herself admitting without sparing a moment for thought. She closed her eyes at once, hoping to force away the heat from her cheeks. They were no doubt flaming now. _I'd been trying to escape humiliation, and instead I've walked right into it._

Only his voice made her open her eyes. They flew open in surprise when he spoke. "I like your hair, too," he replied quietly. Her shocked eyes barely had time to register the small smile on his face before he added, "Especially when you keep it down like that."

She couldn't think of what to say, so she simply said the first response that came to her, unable to withstand the silence. "I—I had it pinned up at the wedding."

"Yes, I saw."

She swallowed. _He was there, idiot._ "But you… like it like this?" _Oh, that's even worse. Now I'm not only an idiot, but also horribly pathetic._ She thought about calling back her words, but instead she waited, desperate for his answer… _Gods know why I care what he thinks, but I care. I really, really care. _She tried not to let that scare her.

"I do." He paused then, and dropped her arm as he turned to face her. As he stood just two feet away from her, Alexandra could feel her heart begin beating faster in her chest; it sounded as loud as a drum and she wondered if he could hear it too. She suddenly had the insane idea that he might kiss her.

_He wouldn't, _she told herself, all the while feeling her breaths become shallower at the prospect. She tried to ignore the part of her that wanted it to happen, the part of her that wanted more from him, the part of her that _wanted_ _him_…

"How do you like autumn?"

She stared at him, trying not to gape. _What? _She blinked, not seeing the connection. _He speaks of liking my hair and then wonders what I think of the fall?_ "I… like it," she replied, not having any idea what to say or why he'd asked or even if that was, indeed, the correct response.

But he nodded to himself at her answer, and seemed to look pleased. A minute later everything was illuminated. "I was thinking, if it pleased you as well… that we'd have the wedding then." She felt her breath catch in her throat, but she struggled not to let her surprise show on her face. He was watching her intently, ready to take in anything and everything that she might let slip.

She couldn't falter here, so she simply replied, "I would like that." It wasn't until the words were out of her mouth that she realized they weren't a lie. The realization brought a small, unsure smile to her lips. She knew she should be questioning her judgment here—questioning why and how he made her feel like this about their wedding, one which she had been previously dreading for weeks—but she couldn't. Not now. Not while he was smiling back at her, and stepping closer, and now—

Her breath truly caught in her throat now. He was close, _so_ close, so much closer than he had ever been before… He would kiss her. She didn't know why she was so certain, but she was suddenly completely sure of that fact. He _had _to, and he _would_. She felt excitement coil her body tight, twisting her intestines into a spring.

As he bent forward, she thought about leaning up to meet him, but she found she was too frozen in shock to prepare herself. She could barely understand her own excitement; acting on it seemed out of the question. So she simply waited as he leaned down towards her. Afterwards, she would be grateful for this stall; if she had followed that first instinct it would have only made things worse, she was certain to think later.

As it turned out, his lips had not been aiming for hers… But merely dipping down to touch the back of her hand again, as they had the night of Meredith and Derek's wedding. She swallowed her nerves as his mouth brushed across her skin in a soft kiss, and tried to beat back startlingly high levels of disappointment that were rising within her. _Where was all this coming from?_ She wondered, fear seeping into her disappointment. She couldn't understand where her mind was going, what her body was craving, or where all her thoughts were coming from. Why did he have to confuse _everything_?

She struggled to clear her expression by the time he straightened up. "I will see you in the fall, then," he told her.

She swallowed. "Yes," she managed to confirm, "the fall."

He spared her another small smile, just for a second or two, and then walked away. She watched him go, curious as to where he was headed, before she realized where they were. Without her knowledge, he had somehow brought them full circle—and was now boarding the carriage that would take him back to wherever his home was.

As she watched the young coachman reach forward to shut the door behind his master, she suddenly had the very strange urge to run forward, to call out his name. She held herself back, of course, but only just barely. Her need for more contact with him had started to simmer within her after this meeting—she wondered if it would rise to a boiling point between now and autumn. She hoped not. Nonetheless, she thought it would be best to immerse herself in wedding plans until then; hopefully keeping her mind and body preoccupied would leave little space for him.

But there was part of her—an admittedly very large part, if Alexandra was being honest with herself—that was certain he'd find a way to insert himself into her life, even when he was nowhere to be seen.

.

Alexandra laid awake abed that night, long after Laura's hours-long questioning had ceased and her father's polite remarks had been heard. She had been right, earlier, when she'd predicted that he would find a way to insert himself into her life—she couldn't stop thinking about him, and it had been hours and hours since he'd left. She marveled at how different it would be for them after they were wed. He would be near all the time… At least now she had the excuses of distance and impropriety to keep them away from each other… But when there was nothing that separated them, truly nothing, how would things change?

She closed her eyes, thinking back on their meeting. It had been fairly short, all things considered. She had gone over it time and time again, now she had every moment memorized, even the embarrassing ones. She recalled the start of their encounter, reviewing it once again. It was the only thing that might be able to lull her to sleep… But it was also the only thing that kept her wide awake.

_'You were married before?'_ She remembered hearing him inquire. It was the first question he'd asked, and she could almost hear his voice—he kept it soft and low, as if aware what sort of sensitive subject he was broaching. She had just been trying to get over his looks then—not that she was convinced that she would _ever _be able to get over his looks—and then his voice had gone and seduced her all over again.

Alexandra shut her eyes tight, smacking her head back against the pillow beneath her. She tried to suppress the smile that curved up her lips as she thought of him, but it was impossible. They'd gotten along today. They'd _really_ gotten along, and for the first time since her father had told her of George's death, Alexandra could start to see how she might be able to create a life with someone else. With _him, _even.

Alexandra sighed to herself, wondering for the millionth time why he was interested in _her_, of all people. She did not have money. She did not have a title. She did not have looks or even a proper figure. Alexandra sighed, lifting a hand to cover her eyes and making the darkness in her room ever darker. _Perhaps he has scared away every other woman on the face of the earth, _she mused, entertained for a moment before she remembered her sister's comments about his whoring. _Or had them already, most like, _she amended, her thoughts turning dark and inhospitable._ I'm the only thing left that's new and untouched, and men always like to be the first to touch something no one else has and claim it as their own._

She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, as if hoping doing so might erase her doubts. _I was happy with him a moment ago, _she thought desperately to herself. _Why did that all have to go away?_

_Because you won't stop second-guessing yourself, _she could hear that Meredith-like voice tell her. _Leave yourself alone, let come what may, and you will always find a way to be happy._

Alexandra didn't feel very happy just now. Again, for what must be the hundredth time, she wished her sister hadn't gone off and married that tiresome Shepherd man. It wasn't that she didn't want them to be happy—she loved seeing Meredith happy… though she couldn't quite give a fig for Derek's happiness—but she just wanted her sister back. These were not things that she could speak to Laura about, no matter how caring or "understanding" her child-like sister was. She just didn't have the experience that Meredith had, and experience—above everything else—was what Alexandra craved.

It was impossible, of course, to be experienced.

If she had married George then, yes, probably, she would have some experience. Then she might not be a maiden anymore, then she might've kissed a man. But she hadn't married George. She hadn't married anyone; she never come close to marrying anyone after George. Not until him.

Alexandra took a long breath, remembering how she'd ached for him to kiss her just before he'd left. She remembered how she'd thought to lean forward as he bent down—looking back, she couldn't even remember where that instinct came from. She supposed it was just that—_instinct—_and she found herself half-wishing that she'd followed it. Then maybe they would've kissed.

She let that regret fester—as she let every regret—and fell asleep with it still gnawing at her. She rose early, unfortunately, just as the sun was warming her room to a near-uncomfortable heat. As she got to her feet and Sarah helped her dress for another boring and commonplace day, Alexandra began to wonder if he would visit again. It was all empty hopes, though, she knew, for if the wedding wasn't far off, he had just as many preparations to go through as she did. She remembered hearing her father mention that the ride to bring him here had taken hours, just one way… Alexandra was more than certain that he wouldn't make such a trip again simply to see her. She knew he must have more important things to do.

Interestingly enough, as it turned out, she did too. The next weeks and months were completely devoted to planning the wedding. Though it would not be as widely attended nor as large as her sister's had been, that did not mean that there was that much less work to do. She had to have all of her affairs in order—her clothes, books, furniture, anything that she might want to take to her new home—packed and shipped just days before their wedding.

While the days passed, and then the weeks and months too, she was interested to discover that he never diminished accordingly in her mind. He was always there—sometimes lurking in the back of her mind, sometimes grinning just behind her eyelids… And even if she had wanted to get rid of him, she wasn't sure she'd be able to. When she was in a mood to admit it, she could be happy they were arranged to be married—at least she had a proper excuse for him always being on her mind.

That first morning after he'd visited, he truly was always on her mind, each and every moment. So much so that, when Sarah reached into a nearby bowl on her dresser to pin up her mistress' hair, Alexandra stilled her with one word. "Don't."

The servant girl turned to her, quietly surprised. "My lady?" She wondered politely. The brunette usually always liked to keep her hair pinned up, the girl knew. It the flyaway strands out of her face and the bulk of her long, dark and heavy hair off her back and shoulders.

She met her maid's eyes in the mirror and gave her the smallest, most tentative smile. "I'd like to keep my hair down today."

.

_Author's Note: Reviews are greatly appreciated! Thank you all for reading!_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8:**

_Author's Note: Thank you all for your reviews! Here is the next part:_

.

Meredith arrived the night before Alexandra's wedding, just a few hours after supper had been served, eaten, and cleared away. Though she tried to be angry at her sister's tardiness, Alexandra was so relieved to see her elder sister in the flesh that she couldn't—not even for a moment—pretend to be angry with her.

Meredith had barely stepped into her natal home when Alexandra blindsided her with a fierce hug. She took a breath in surprise, but didn't comment on the odd occurrence; Meredith knew her younger sister had many other things to worry about than how exuberantly she greeted guests.

"How are you?" Meredith wondered, taking both of her sister's hands in her two as she pulled back. "Truly," Meredith pressed, looking her sister in the eye.

"You think I would lie?" Alexandra replied, the smallest scowl crossing over her delicate features.

Meredith bit back her witty reply, knowing it would only embarrass her sister more and fuel her worries to voice the mocking words aloud. Instead, she waited for Alexandra to reply on her own—_I'm fine, Meredith_—and then dropped her hands and led the way upstairs. Laura, mercifully, did not intrude. Alexandra figured she was either asleep or displaying more of that maturity, wisdom, and moderation she seemed to be cultivating continuously these days.

Meredith shut the door behind the two of them softly and then joined her sister on her bed without a word. Paper crunched beneath her as she sat, and when she reached out for it, she realized it was a letter. And that the rest of Alexandra's bed was littered with them. She set it back down atop one of the others carefully, almost reverently, since she knew who they were from and what they meant. She tried not to imagine what it meant for her sister's future to see the girl looking at love letters from her dead almost-husband the night before she was to marry someone else. She knew it had to be a bad omen, but of what degree she hated to speculate.

She heard her sister draw a ragged breath next to her. "I look at them and I… I try to feel… _something_…" Her voice was a whisper, tinged with guilt and sorrow. "But I don't. I don't feel anything, not anymore. Nothing." She finally raised her head to her sister's, torn and anguished. "I'm a horrible person, aren't I?"

Meredith sighed quietly, closing her eyes for a moment as she decided what to say. When she had, she opened her eyes and shifted closer to her sister, taking one of the bride-to-be's hands in both of hers. "No," she replied firmly. "You aren't a horrible person, Lexie. And it's perfectly alright that you don't feel anything—"

"It absolutely is not alright."

Meredith stared at her sister for a long moment. "Why?" She wondered finally, genuinely curious. "Why is it wrong not to feel anything anymore?"

"Because we were supposed to be married," Alexandra replied heatedly, her voice rising in anger despite being previously hushed in sadness. "We were supposed to be married and now—"

"Now you won't be," Meredith interrupted. She waited a beat, looking into her sister's eyes. "It's been almost a year, Lexie. That's a long time." Alexandra scoffed at this, but Meredith ignored her. "You have to remember," she added, "that he was _promised _to you. Nothing ever happened between you two besides words, and words are changeable and deniable and often mean very little." She took a slow breath, reaching out to brush some hair behind her sister's ear affectionately. "You're promised to someone else now," she reminded her sister softly.

Alexandra looked away, not ready to face that reality just yet.

"He won't be George," Meredith admitted softly, as if she could read her sister's mind. "There is no denying that. But who's to say he cannot or will not make you happy?" She shrugged. "He is just a man, after all."

_They are all just men, _Alexandra wanted to say, but didn't. She knew the only response she would receive was a dithering reply about how Lady Shepherd's son was different from all the rest. Alexandra closed her eyes. _They're all the same. And so are we._ She took a breath, clearing her head.

"He came and visited me," she informed her sister quietly. Part of her hated the quick way she flitted away from the subject of George, but the other part of her was happy for a reprieve and—though she wasn't sure she liked to admit it—happy to speak of _him_.

"I heard," Meredith replied. Her pale pink lips curved into a smile. "How was he? And don't say 'fine,'" she added hurriedly.

Alexandra smiled at her sister's request. "He was…" She paused. How was she supposed to describe what he was, what that meeting was like? She gave her sister a sheepish look, and finally admitted, "I don't really know how to describe him."

Meredith smiled, satisfied. "I'll take that as a good sign."

Silence descended between the two for a time before Alexandra suddenly asked, "Does it really hurt as much as some women say it does?"

Meredith inhaled slowly, unsure of what to say. She had the experience, it was true, but there was no doubt in her mind that _her_ experience would be drastically different from whatever her sister was about to go through. Derek had loved her when she'd given him the honor of taking her maidenhead. And because of that love, he'd been so gentle with her, so sweet and caring and ever attentive and present. But they'd been building up to that points for months prior; months, almost a year. Alexandra hadn't even known her husband-to-be _existed _for that length of time.

The manner in which her sister would lose the same gift would be nothing close to Meredith's, she, unfortunately, was sure. She hoped Derek would have the sense to talk to his friend beforehand. Too often, men seemed to think a woman's loss of her innocence and the vestiges of her childhood was the same as for a man, and therefore took them accordingly without pause or thought or care.

Meredith looked at her sister. She couldn't imagine that happening to her. She couldn't fathom it. But just because _she _couldn't wrap her mind around the potential for such a reality did not make it any less real.

"Meredith?" Alexandra had to prompt finally. Her voice was tinged with apprehension now; Meredith silently cursed herself for getting lost in her own mind and worrying her sister with her hesitation.

"Excuse me," Meredith mumbled, "I was just thinking…"

"Of Derek?"

Meredith tried not to let her shock show when she saw the smile on her sister's face. She was not under any illusions about the nature of her husband and sister's relationship. It was strained and tense at best; hateful and angry at worst. So it surprised her greatly when she saw her sister smiling as she teased her about her husband. They rarely spoke of Derek; and when they did it was only ever because Meredith had brought him up first. Meredith took a breath, and gave her sister a brief smile before replying.

"It can hurt," she answered finally. "And there will be some blood, but don't worry about that; it happens to everyone."

Alexandra nodded, swallowing. Meredith knew she was only focused on one thing. "It'll hurt… a lot?"

"Not terribly," Meredith replied. "Nothing like that." She sighed. There was no way to explain this. It was just something every woman had to experience for herself. "It depends," she added, "on—"

"Him?" Alexandra supplied.

Meredith stared at her sister for a moment before nodding. "Yes."

"Do you think…" She paused, licking her lips nervously. "Do you think he'll be gentle with me?"

Meredith forced herself not to closer her eyes, sigh, or look away. She knew anything except keeping steady eye contact with her sister would only scare her sister more. "I hope so," she answered finally, keeping her voice quiet but confident. Alexandra didn't press her. She knew neither of them had a concrete yes-or-no response on the topic; still, it was nice to be reassured, even if such empty assurances would mean next to nothing come tomorrow night.

Meredith rose to her feet. "You should get some sleep," she instructed gently. She refrained from remarking on what was coming in just a few hours' time; Alexandra knew what was coming. It would not do to remind her again and again. "I will, too," she added, crossing the room.

Alexandra called her name just as she was reaching the door.

Meredith turned. "Yes?"

Alexandra stared at her for nearly a full minute before saying quietly, "Thank you, Mer. For coming. For being here. For… For everything. For being my sister."

A small smile turned up Meredith Shepherd's lips. "You're very welcome, Lexie." She put her hand on the doorknob and turned it. "I'll see you in the morning," she told her sister. "Try to get some sleep, please."

Alexandra watched her sister leave in silence, and stared at her closed door after the woman had gone. After a long time, she finally returned her attention to all the notes and letters on her bed. Her eyes trailed from one to another; she didn't have to bother reading them. She knew them all by heart. Still, one drew her eye. It was the last one he'd ever sent.

.

_ Some of the men have been saying that the war is near over. It's just rumors and talk, I'm sure, but still… Have you chosen a dress to wear? Have you kissed your sister and father good-bye? I may come to wed you as I am now in my armor and mail, for I feel I can hardly wait long enough to change and dress properly. I miss you more than I could ever hope to express with these few words, Alexandra._

_ I can't wait to see you. I'll be home soon._

_With love, _

_George_

_._

_We would've been good together, _Alexandra thought sadly, staring at the letters on the page and the ones scattered over her bed. _We would've been a good match, and had a nice life together with many children. We would've been _happy_._

She suddenly wished she had a painting of him. He had not survived in her memory as she had first hoped—someone else had taken his place, in her mind and in truth—and she found she was forgetting almost every detail of what he had once looked like. _What will I do once he's completely gone from my mind?_ She wondered. Even now, she could only recall the faint shape of his cheeks and the color of his hair.

The answer to her question came quickly, though not as immediately or enthusiastically as it should've: _I'll take comfort in my husband. _She sighed. He was handsome, yes, and wealthy… But that did not mean anything, not really. It would keep her from want and starvation and save her from forcing herself not to cringe when she looked upon him, but when it came to the two of them alone in their marriage bed or living out the rest of their days together, she would much prefer a plain or ugly man who cared for her than a handsome one who did not give a fig for her feelings.

But she did not have what she preferred.

She closed her eyes, chastising herself. _When will I ever learn to simply take what I'm offered and be pleased with it?_ The girl in her snapped back immediately, indignant, _I took what I was offered. I loved what I was offered, and he loved me back. And then he _died_._

It was hours later that she finally fell into a fitful sleep. Her dreams told premonitions of the next day, but the figure she was standing with at the altar and the one who was leading her to a strange bed kept changing his appearance. One minute he was her husband-to-be with his blue eyes and handsome grey hair and amused smile, and the next he was someone unfamiliar, someone almost wholly forgotten. The scene changed so many times, she was never sure who it was or what was happening.

And then she was being gently woken—just as she was starting for the aisle again—and being told that the dawn was coming and that it was time to get ready. She let the maids—accompanied by Meredith, who handed her a saucer of warm tea—have their way with her. They arranged her hair, colored her lips and cheeks, and plucked at stray hairs all over her body. They even went so far as to take a razorblade to the hair on her bare legs, and when she started to protest, Meredith assured her it was nothing to put up a fight about, since it was just for this once occasion. _Besides, he'll like it, _she added with a smile. Alexandra relented at that, albeit reluctantly, for she couldn't understand why a man would prefer a woman who looked like a goose plucked of all its feathers than as nature intended her. She figured it wasn't her place to pass such judgments, though, so she kept silent on the matter. Later, she marveled at the strange uniform smoothness that was now her legs. They felt almost alien in their softness, and for a time she couldn't stop touching them.

The rest of the dressing and grooming passed uneventfully. She kept her hair down and loose, even though Meredith urged her to put it up. It didn't look respectable, Meredith told her sister, but she eventually begged off when it became clear she wouldn't be able to sway Alexandra's decision. When everything else was finished, and she'd eaten a bit, it was finally time for her to don her wedding dress.

She'd had it made weeks ago, inspected it, tried it on, deemed it appropriate… But here she stood _wearing _it… And suddenly she couldn't breathe, and that wasn't due even in part to the corset strapped about her middle. She caught her sister's eye, and Meredith, thankfully, seemed to sense what was happening. She quickly ushered the servants out of the room and rushed to her sister's side. She didn't stand anything, but simply reached out and held her sister's hands. Alexandra was grateful for the contact; she clutched her sister's hands with a terrified iron grip.

It was a few minutes before she could speak, and even then it was only a ragged whisper. "What if it hates me, Meredith?"

Meredith smiled, hanging her head at such a silly question. "Lexie, he doesn't hate you." _He doesn't even _know _you, how could he possibly hate you?_

"You don't know that," Alexandra replied. "We've only met once and he—he—"

"He what?" Meredith prompted. "He spoke of putting off the wedding, of cancelling it?"

"No," Alexandra admittedly reluctantly.

"Did he tell you there was some aspect of your character he found unsavory?"

"No."

"Your appearance?"

"No," Alexandra replied, unable to hold back a smile as she recalled how he—in fact—had _praised _her appearance.

Meredith smiled back, squeezing her sister's hands. "See? Then he doesn't hate you now. And," she added before her sister could protest, "there is no way in the world he could ever grow to hate you."

"You're sure?" Alexandra whispered.

Meredith nodded wholeheartedly. "Absolutely." She smiled again. "And stop speaking of hate. I'm certain that by the time this day is out he will be completely in love with you." Her encouraging yet ridiculous words had their desired effect—Alexandra laughed. Meredith squeezed her sister's hands one more time before letting them go. "I'm going to find Laura now," she told Alexandra. "Will you be okay here for a few minutes? We should all leave for the church soon."

Alexandra nodded. "I'm fine now, thank you." She stepped back and returned to her chair in front of the mirror. She smiled at her sister as she left. "I'll see you in a few minutes."

Quicker than Alexandra could have believed, there was a sharp knock on her door and the sound of creaking hinges filled the room.

"Meredith," Alexandra called in surprise when she heard the door being pushed open. "You've found Laura alrea—?" She broke off, staring at the man that stood in his wife's place. She forced herself to be pleasant, but it took quite a bit of willpower. "Is there something I might assist you with, Lord Shepherd?"

The dark-haired man smiled, stepping into the room. He closed the door quietly behind him. "I don't require any assistance, yet I thank you for offering, especially on this day." He gazed at her appearance. "You look beautiful." His words were quiet and measured, as if he were merely stating a fact. She almost laughed at his lack of emotion, and wondered for the hundredth time why he was always so serious all the time.

"Thank you," she replied instead, her voice cool. She spared a moment for the looking glass before addressing him, "If I cannot assist you, may I ask what you business is here? To speak truly, I had been expecting my sister. She said she would return."

"My wife will be along in a moment," he replied, taking a few steps into the room. It was quiet in the small room.

"Shouldn't you be with the groom?" She wondered aloud, unable to contain her curiosity.

"I've already visited with him," Derek replied. He smiled in a way Alexandra supposed was meant to be reassuring, but it served to only increase her worry and turn her stomach in knots. "He's waiting for you at the church." He paused, and Alexandra watched as he seemed to disappear into his own mind for a time. She was about to turn back to her mirror and make last-minute adjustments when he spoke.

"About your husband," he began.

"Husband-to-be," she interrupted.

Derek forced himself not to frown at the correction. "Husband-to-be," he amended a moment later. _If only for an hour more._ "I wanted you to know that he's my oldest and closest friend…"

Alexandra almost groaned. _Of course he is. Now I will have to see you as oft as I will see him._ But she held herself back and smiled instead, replying as sweetly as she could manage, "I'm very pleased I'll be getting the chance to know both of you much more personally."

Derek ignored her empty words and fake smile. "I know this isn't ideal," he told her, remembering all that Meredith had said about Alexandra's previous suitor earlier that morning, "but you should know that that does not mean that you cannot be happy."

_Somehow I doubt that._ "I am sure I will be very happy in my marriage, Lord Shepherd, thank you. He seems a most agreeable man from what I know of him."

Derek didn't bother telling her he was anything but. "Mark's a hard person to get to know," he said instead, choosing his words carefully. "But… if you try hard enough, I'm sure you'll find someone different inside than you would see outside." He paused. "He is… He is a _good_ person, Alexandra, as much as he would like others to think the opposite."

Alexandra frowned at this. Before she could stop herself, she wondered aloud, "Why would he want others to think him bad?"

Derek smiled, happy to have gained an original response, at least. "Because he does not like showing himself—the real side of himself—to people he does not trust or care about," Derek replied. He paused to look her in the eye. "But once he cares for you… You will want for nothing, if it is in his power to give it to you. I can promise you that."

Such a firm statement took Alexandra by surprise, but she quickly composed herself and managed to reply neutrally, "I am sure that is true, Lord Shepherd." She watched Derek sigh—probably in annoyance at her formulaic answers—but he didn't press the issue. Instead he turned back to the door. Alexandra faced her back to him, returning to inspecting her reflection one last time. It was only when Derek Shepherd's voice drifted in from the doorway he held half-open that she realized he hadn't left yet.

"You really do look quite beautiful, Alexandra," he told her, his voice sounding almost apologetic in its apparent honesty. Almost as an afterthought, he added, "I'm sure he'll think so too. He'd be a fool not to."

The door shut behind him with a soft thud, and Alexandra remained frozen to her seat in shock at his undeniably candid words. She stayed like that until her sisters came to collect her and lead her down to the carriage. She didn't speak a word during the ride—though Meredith asked her multiple times if she was alright—instead, she simply sat back and let Laura's happy, excited chatter wash over her.

When they arrived at the church a little under an hour later, Alexandra once again felt her stomach leave her body. Laura preceded her older sisters out of the carriage; Meredith stayed a moment longer than necessary to check on her sister. She crouched in front of the sitting bride, making minute and rather unnecessary alterations to the spread of her veil. She kept her voice low so the coachman couldn't overhear.

"You sure you're alright?"

Alexandra mustered a half-smile and a weak chuckle. "It's too late either way," she replied.

Meredith had a hard time returning her sister's smile. "It will be over quick," she told her sister. "Both this and what will happen tonight." She paused, and bit her lip so she wouldn't cry in front of the already-fragile bride. She kissed her sister's cheek quickly but firmly. "I love you," she whispered, pulling back to look her sister in the eye. "And I promise, I _promise_ it'll be over quick."

"Mer—" Alexandra's voice was choked, and Meredith held up a hand to stop her from speaking.

"Don't cry," she instructed, forcing a smile. "No one likes a sobbing bride, least of all her groom. And keep a smile on your face, alright?" She bit her lip again, hard, but still the tears pricked at her eyes. She reached down and squeezed her sister's hand. "You're so brave," she whispered, "braver than me."

Alexandra drew a short, ragged breath. "You were lucky," she told her sister, trying with all her might to hold back her tears. Whenever Meredith started to cry, she always inevitably followed. "Derek _loves_ you," she whispered. She sucked in a breath, trying to ignore the fire in her throat. "He's always loved you, always." She paused, and when she blinked, she felt a forbidden tear drip down onto her cheek. Another soon followed. "But… He…" She swallowed. "He won't…"

"Nonsense," Meredith chastised. She swiped her eyes quickly and then snuck a hand under her sister's veil to clear her face of tears as well. "You have absolutely no idea what he does or does not feel for you, sister."

Alexandra's chin trembled. "He isn't going to love me. He'll never love me."

"Then that's his loss," Meredith argued angrily.

Alexandra couldn't help it—laughter poured out from her at once. Meredith froze for a moment and then grinned, realizing just how defensive she'd sounded. She gripped her sister's hand and brought it to her lips, kissing her knuckles affectionately. "Be good," she whispered tearfully. "And send me a letter the second you need me."

Alexandra chuckled weakly. "You'd get a flurry of them tonight if I did that."

"So let me get a flurry," Meredith replied seriously.

Alexandra smiled at her sister, and slowly moved towards the door. Meredith realized it was time—the bride was ready now, or a ready as she would ever be—and so she moved to precede her sister out of the carriage in a procession that would lead to an altar and a husband.

Alexandra grabbed her sister's hand just before she took her first step outside of the carriage. Meredith looked over her shoulder, worriedly catching her sister's gaze. But Alexandra was smiling at her. She squeezed her hand briefly, whispering, "I love you too, Mer," before letting go.

.

_Author's Note: I know this chapter was short. I'm sorry for that, but I felt like this was the best place to end it. We'll see a bit of Mark's view of their wedding day in the next chapter. Thank you all for reading. Please continue being wonderful and leave me a review below. :)_


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9:**

_Author's Note: Thank you all for your reviews on the last chapter! I hope you like this one…_

.

"She has tiny breasts." The old woman's face was pinched in disapproval, accentuating her already wrinkled features as she scowled at her son. Marcus Sloan took some queer form of pride in the fact that he could still make his mother look ugly. It was not an easy feat, regrettably. Right now she looked a bit like an old hen—all shriveled skin and beady eyes, forever pecking away at others she deemed subject to her torment. Which happened to be everyone. "Does she even _have _breasts?" Lady Rosalyn wondered aloud, settling herself into Marcus's own chair and she'd invited herself into his private room only moments after the bride had arrived. Her pointed eyes found her son. "Marcus, has the girl even flowered?"

"She's nineteen, not nine, Mother," Marcus repeated, struggling to master a bored tone. Conversations with his mother only ever made him want to scream and shout. But if he did so, he knew he'd see that satisfied smirk on his mother's mouth, telling him that he'd fallen once again right into her trap.

"She's old," the old woman complained.

"Well, not all of us can find brides as young and fresh as you, Mother."

Lady's Rosalyn's voice turned hard as steel. "This is not a joking matter, Marcus."

"Oh, I'm well aware of that," the groom muttered under his breath. He cursed himself silently. Murmuring abuse just below the threshold of hearing—yet another habit brought forth from childhood. He asked himself for the millionth time when he would finally grow up.

"Why didn't you bring her to me before now?" Lady Rosalyn demanded abruptly. Her annoyance rang clear through her tone, as if she thought her son couldn't hear it if it was subtle. Or—more likely—as if she thought he wasn't grasping the full extent of her deep disapproval at this whole affair. "I have a right to approve of my son's wife before they're to be married."

"She was travelling," Marcus lied, hating himself for skirting his mother's wrath. Some habits—especially ones ingrained in childhood—never truly died. "She only just returned."

"Hmpf," Lady Rosalyn snorted. "She's present for her own wedding, how blessed we all are to bask in her presence."

"I should say so," Marcus replied honestly, not having spared a thought for how his response would be viewed. He waited, apprehensive, for his mother to comment on his now-clear feelings towards his bride-to-be. But she didn't say a word. She was frowning again, and Marcus was suddenly grateful for his mother's preoccupation with his bride's apparently lacking physical appearance. He had no complaints, and, for once, she couldn't change the way he thought about this matter. That was a victory in and of itself.

"Why did you choose this bride?" Lady Rosalyn demanded to know. "Merely to spite me?"

_I didn't choose her, _Marcus almost said._ She was offered to me. _His thoughts hardened, made even more poisonous by his mother's presence. _And I took the easiest way out, as usual. You should be proud your predictions proved to have truth in them after all, Mother._

"She has the smallest hips I've ever seen," Lady Rosalyn commented unhappily. "How will she ever bear you strong sons and keep them properly fed? She barely has any curves on her at all."

Marcus sighed loudly in annoyance, finally fed up with his mother's complaints. Talk about children especially rankled him; he never liked talking about them, least of all with this hateful woman he was unfortunately made to call 'Mother.' His exasperation didn't faze her, though.

"Were the gods making a mockery of feminine weakness and suffering when they created her?" She wondered aloud, clucking her tongue in distaste. "A poor jape, indeed. She'll expire before the midwife can even see the babe's head."

"She'll be fine," Marcus heard himself say, and the words came out of his mouth sounding surprisingly defensive. He closed his eyes then, and resumed his favorite pastime of letting his mother's voice wash over him, going in one ear and out the other. He let his mind drift as his mother's complaints continued; he wasn't surprised whom it landed on first. He could see her behind his closed eyes, as clearly as if she were standing before him this very moment.

He took a few seconds to study her figure in his mind, but try as he might, he couldn't agree with any of the complaints his mother had voiced so vehemently. She was beautiful, he decided at once. He'd decided that months ago, of course, but it was important that that first impression still held. It did. His mind traced over her curves. They were—he had to admit—small. But they were not non-existent, and all that really mattered was that they were there in the first place. She had breasts, she had hips, she had red lips and a mouth. He searched the rest of her face; now he could see her brown eyes, large and innocent like a doe's, and her flowing black-brown hair that fell well past her shoulders to the middle of her back. His lips twitched at the thought, remembering how he'd told her he'd preferred her hair in the loose style. He wondered if she'd take his input into account today, or disregarded it for such lavish styles that brides oft seemed to prefer.

His mind reviewed her features once again, but still, he found no faults. She may have little breasts and narrow hips, but that did not mean much. He had to have had his fill of thick-waisted wenches and buxom whores, he reasoned. Why not try something different and new? It was not that he found her unattractive. No, she was far from unattractive. She was what she was—tiny breasts, tiny hips, and fiery blushes included—and what she was, was beautiful.

Marcus felt like he could drown in her body, and not just in the simple way every man dreams of.

.

Derek Shepherd took a deep breath before he knocked on the door. He could hear Mark's mother's voice going on and on, obviously angered with something, and he braced himself before he stepping inside. Though he would divert her attention from his friend any day, that didn't mean he had to like it.

Lady Carolyn turned around when she heard the door open. "Ah, Derek." Her voice was completely flat, emotionless, and her lips were pressed in that same thin, disapproving line they'd been in probably her entire life. "There you are. We've been waiting."

Derek Shepherd forced himself to smile, and greeted her as well. He looked to Mark, but the groom's back was to him and he didn't show any signs of turning. He cursed Mark silently for practically leaving him alone with his mother. "I'd like to have a few moments with the groom, my lady, if it would suit you…"

The old woman huffed, but didn't argue. "You make sure he doesn't run," she told him as she passed. "And remind him to be a proper husband tonight, would you? No whores."

Derek waited for the door to close behind her before he addressed his friend. "You hear that?" He called. "No whores."

"Be quiet, Shepherd." Marcus's voice was cold and low, and Derek quickly realized this wasn't a day for jokes. After speaking with Alexandra earlier, he supposed he should have noted that. He walked slowly to his friend's side.

"She's waiting for you, you know."

Mark took a deep breath before replying, "Yes, I know."

"Well?" Derek pressed. "Are you going to come wed her or not?"

"Do you have the rings?" Mark asked, ignoring his friend's question.

"I do." He paused, studying his friend. He seemed to be thinking about something very hard. Derek decided he might have an idea as to what it was. He cleared his throat, and said quietly, "I _am_ married, you know… If you want, I could tell you whatever you want to know."

Mark glared at his best friend silently for a few seconds before replying coldly, "I know how to take a woman to bed, Shepherd."

Derek had no doubt of that. "But do you know how to take a maiden?" He wondered. "Women and girls are not exactly the same thing, and she—for the purposes of today and tonight—is still very much a girl. You should treat her accordingly."

Marcus ignored his friend. "Leave me be, Shepherd."

"Mark—"

"I said leave me _be,_ Shepherd," he replied crossly. He glared at the other man until he backed off.

"Fine," Derek muttered, dropping the subject. He walked to the door. "I'm going to go tell the bride to ready herself. You'd best be on that altar when she walks up."

.

Alexandra's wedding was not like Meredith's had been.

Where Meredith's had been full of smiles and cheers and genuine affection, Alexandra's was quiet, solemn, almost. It was somber in feel, nearly like that of a funeral. In fact, more than once, Alexandra had to catch herself before she looked over her shoulder, curious to discover who'd died.

She wondered if he got that feeling too. He certainly _did _seem uncomfortable, but no doubt that was because he was promising to keep one woman for the rest of his life and take no others… Alexandra found herself wondering how long he'd last, if indeed he would last at all. She tried not to care that he would take whore or paramours, but it bothered her, more than she knew was rational.

Though she forced herself to smile, she did not see such happiness ever cross his face. After a time, she gave up. Even his touch, when he took her hand to slide the ring on, was not overly tender or soft. Her hands shook slightly when she returned the gesture.

She remembered Meredith's wedding, then, and how even _her _hands had shook. She'd been beaming though, more embarrassed than anxious or scared, and Derek had taken her hands in his to calm her. It was just briefly, just a moment… But it was more than Alexandra had at the time.

But she still hand her own moments, she couldn't deny that. She couldn't deny him credit.

They were not full of love and happiness like those instances she'd witnessed of Meredith's and Derek's, but it didn't make them any less special.

.

He'd cleared his throat softly just before the service was beginning, and murmured, just loud enough for her to hear but not so as to be overheard, "You look very beautiful."

Alexandra couldn't stop the edges of her mouth from turning up when he said that, couldn't stop her heart from beating faster with happiness. "Thank you."

She took a breath, realizing she was still staring at the stones beneath their feet. Slowly, she raised her eyes to meet his. She could swear her breath caught in her throat when it happened. She tried to swallow, but found her throat was horribly constricted. "You… You look…" Her brain froze, overloaded by the sight of him and unable to find the right word to describe what she was seeing. He was a vision, truly a vision, clothed in the deep blacks and stark grays for the occasion. His eyes shone brightly amongst all the dark colors as they focused completely on her, brighter than usual. She licked her lips, tearing her eyes away from his. She noticed his hair was combed back and straightened into place. She suddenly had the mad desire to run her hands through it and muss it up as it had been before, as it should be. She held back, but only barely. Her fingers twitched at her side, and she forced her eyes away so she could speak. "You look so very handsome, my lord."

He was smiling at her now. She closed her eyes. Oh, how she wished he wouldn't do that. She couldn't think when he did that. "Thank you, my lady." She was half-certain there was a laugh in his words. _Is he making fun of me? Did I take too long to reply?_ But before she could ask, the service had already begun. They faced forward now, though every few seconds, she could feel his eyes on her. When she was certain he wasn't looking, she took a few seconds to sneak her own looks at him. It was almost unbelievable, that _this _was the man she was marrying. She just couldn't wrap her head around it.

Alexandra felt herself grow more and more nervous as the night drew nearer. Soon enough—too soon, she was sure—she knew it would be time for her and her new husband to retire to their new home and their bed and… She closed her eyes, letting the priest's voice wash over her. _Do our duty to each other._ It was no different, really, she tried to tell herself, than how they'd slipped rings on each other's fingers just minutes ago. She could feel the weight of the gold band on her hand down as the priest said the closing rites; it was so much lighter than the weight of her thoughts and fears. _He slid the ring onto my finger just as he will slide his…_

She shook her head, trying not to think of it. Her stomach was already tied into such horrible knots over the ceremony she knew she couldn't bear to waste a thought on what would happen afterwards. _One nightmare at a time, _she told herself, taking a quiet, deep breath and then focusing her attention on the priest as he addressed the two of them.

Her husband accepted the blessing for both of them and she stayed silent, as was customary, and then he took her hand and placed it on his arm so they could walk out of the church together. The room was entirely silent as they made their way from altar to exit, and Alexandra took the opportunity to study the faces that were gathered. She recognized most of them: her own family, her sister's husband—she almost frowned at the thought, realizing she'd have to consider him family now, too—Lady Carolyn and a few of her daughters… There was only one face she didn't recognize. The woman was sitting alone, in a pew all to herself halfway towards the back, something very peculiar, considering most of the guests were all congregated in the same one or two pews at the front. What was even more peculiar was how she stared at Alexandra. The bride couldn't help but flinch for her gaze, certain she was being sized up and inspected like one would look at a bug before stamping it out. The old woman's gaze haunted her, even after they'd passed her by, left the church, and stepped out into the late afternoon sunlight.

Meredith and Derek came to congratulate them first. Derek went immediately for her husband, that she was grateful for. She had pretended pleasantries with him one two many times today. Meredith hugged her tight as soon as they were close enough.

"I'm so proud of you, Lexie," she whispered in her sister's ear.

Alexandra couldn't help but smile, and held her sister's hands when their embrace ended. "Thanks, Mer," she replied quietly. She glanced quickly to her husband, but he was caught up in conversation with Lord Shepherd, and obviously not bothering to listen to anything she and her sister were discussing. She leaned closer to the blonde nonetheless. "About—tonight," she whispered hurriedly, "is it going to be—"

Her words were cut off by a loud and exaggerated throat-clearing. Alexandra's head swiveled around at the sound, surprised to see that unfamiliar woman's face just a few feet from hers. She glanced quickly to her husband, searching his face for some kind of recognition, a clue that would tell her who this woman was. But his face was a mask of indifference. She could glean nothing from it, so she just watched, apprehensive, as the old woman drew closer. All the surrounding conversations fell to a quiet hush.

"Congratulations," she said, not sounding at all congratulatory. Her beady eyes swept over Marcus's for a moment before flicking to his wife.

"Th—Thank you," Alexandra stuttered, realizing she was expected to answer since her husband had declined. She paused, licking her lips. "Uhm… You are…?" Alexandra trailed off, curious. She flinched a few seconds later at the complete shock that passed over the old woman's face. As much as she tried to wrack her brain, she couldn't place the woman. She was certain she'd never seen her before.

"You must learn to train your wife better, Marcus," the aged woman told the groom. "She doesn't even recognize her own mother."

Alexandra felt her stomach drop out of her body. _Oh no._ How could she have been so stupid? _Of course _this was his mother. Who else in the world would it be? She knew his father was dead; it made sense she was alone. But still she hadn't placed her…

"P—Pardon me, my lady mother," she stammered, quickly trying to save face. "I—" She searched for a suitable excuse. None came. "I was not informed that you would be attending."

To Alexandra's great surprise, the old woman laughed at that, a mixture between a bark and a wheeze. It was incredibly unsettling. "Not attending?" She grinned, showing a mouth of straight but soiled teeth. Alexandra tried not to flinch. "I'm sure my son would've liked that. If I wasn't here, maybe he'd have done you the kindness of smiling once or twice through the whole thing." She snorted, and out of the corner of her eye, Alexandra could see her husband's body stiffen and his jaw clench tight. She didn't have time to focus on his response, though, because now his mother was addressing them.

"I'll visit you both in a year's time from now," Lady Rosalyn informed the couple. She took a moment to look each partner in the eye, and then added, matter-of-factly—as if he was already alive and simply waiting for his parents at home while they took the time to get married—"I expect my grandson will be awake to greet me when I arrive." She glanced to Alexandra, and seemed to somehow look past the initial shock and deep-seated fear in the girl's eyes to add coldly, "Be a dear and don't let the boy cry in my presence, please, daughter. I absolutely loathe crying babies, even if they are male."

Marcus made a concentrated effort not to frown at his mother's words—no doubt she was remembering him as a child, and he would not allow himself to rise to her bait. Instead, he glanced over to his wife. Alexandra's eyes were wide with surprise and—it was all too plain to see—terror. He thought about comforting her for a moment, but then he realized he had absolutely no idea what to say. He had no idea how to comfort women, least of all about the duties expected of their sex. So instead he addressed his mother, somehow finding it easier to make small talk with _her _than spare a few words for his wife. He tried not to think about how horrible a husband that made him, but he'd known from the beginning that he'd never be good at this, so it didn't much matter.

They spoke with their guests for a time after that, until a servant stopped by and announced that the preparations were ready. Alexandra looked around at all the familiar faces, but none of them showed recognition. She tried not to flinch when her husband took her arm—but it was impossible not to do so; _what _preparations were they talking about? But a moment later, as they rounded the side of the church, it was clear from the fact that there were no carriages around that the servant hadn't been alluding to their impending wedding night. Alexandra breathed an audible sigh of relief when she saw that a table had been set up in the grass, and that a large spread was waiting for her, her husband, and the rest of the guests. She tried not to let her stomach growl, but it was impossible to stop—she had barely eaten today and now she was ravenous. She would've run to the food, but that would be unseemly, and besides, she had to keep pace with her husband, who was walking very slowly today, for some odd reason. She looked over at him, somehow not at all surprised to see that he was staring right at her. She was slowly coming to terms with the fact that his eyes were nearly always on her… She just wasn't sure if she liked that or not.

"I'm sorry about my mother," he murmured as they made their way across the grass.

Alexandra stared at him in silent surprise. Why was he apologizing for her? "You don't have to say you're sorry," she answered quietly. "I know what's expected of me in this lifetime."

"Still, she didn't have to put it so bluntly, especially not to you."

"I get the feeling she enjoys employing brutal honestly in her dealings with others," Alexandra noted. She watched as something like the beginnings of a smile curved up his lips.

"You would be very correct to have that feeling," Marcus replied, just before they took their seats and were joined by the rest of their wedding party.

.

The meal passed in silence. Well, it passed in silence for Alexandra.

Her husband sat to her left, and her father to her right. Though they had exchanged a few quiet words before the rest of their guests joined them, Alexandra and her husband didn't speak during the entire meal, which was many courses too long, even for someone as hungry as her. He seemed very quiet all around, actually; not even Lord Shepherd's jokes could set up a warm banter between the two, and after a time, he stopped trying. Her father was just as silent as her husband. Though he'd said the words, loud and clear, to give her away on that altar and congratulated her afterwards, he now seemed tongue-tied. It was like he didn't know how to communicate with his daughters once they had husbands; maybe he thought them too grown up or acknowledged the fact that they now had nothing more between them than blood.

The thought saddened her. Blood was important. Family was important. And in the silence of her new home, she would have welcomed a couple lines of dialogue from her father, especially considering that she wouldn't see him in gods knew how long. She wouldn't be able to visit her home again until she had a child to present to him—until she showed her worth and acknowledged that his efforts in marrying her off had not been in vain or wasted.

She suddenly wondered how long that would be until she was fit to visit home again. It took a woman three-quarters of a year to carry a child from conception to birth… Would it really be less than an entire year when she had a child of her own? The thought struck fear into her girlish heart, but another part of her was interested. Another part of her wanted to know what it was like. She tried not to smile.

She was sure Meredith would be able to tell her. Meredith, who always broke the rules and got away with it—who'd visited home not more than a few months after she was married, who'd been delighting her lover with sexual favors before Alexandra even knew what the phrase meant. If Meredith wasn't pregnant by now, it stood to reason that Alexandra would never be. She could not imagine going to bed with her husband as frequently as Meredith did with Derek, no matter how handsome he was. But she _was _grateful, at least, that he was pleasing to look upon. In truth, he was striking, and she took a moment to stare at him when he wasn't looking to catch her.

The hard set of his jaw, his piercing blue eyes… She even found his greying hair to be attractive, just as she'd been stupid enough to tell him. And though most men she had known kept their faces respectably clean-shaven, she enjoyed the unfamiliarity of seeing a full—albeit shortly trimmed—beard on his cheeks, chin, and above his mouth. She found herself wondering if, later, it would feel as good against her skin as it looked on his when he kissed her, really kissed her, for the first time. She wondered how his lips would feel against hers, and if he would find her to be a good kisser or a poor one.

She was suddenly very self-conscious, aware of every fault that made her her. _I will never please him, _she lamented in silence. _Never ever… _She paused a second later, wondering. _Has anyone pleased him? _She reasoned if he was settling for someone like her, that was because he'd made at least more than one romantic blunder in his life. She only hoped those mistakes, at least, would not involve their marriage bed.

And that thought set her off to worrying again. The continuous fall of dusk didn't help, either—just another reminder that every minute that ticked by was one that brought her closer to her new home and all the duties that were expected of her to carry out there. Watching him out of the corner of her eye, she remembered how he'd tucked a piece of hair behind her ear when he noticed it had fallen out of place during the ceremony, just before he'd slid the ring onto her finger. _His hand was gentle._ She could still feel the touch of it; rough but somehow soft as well. She wondered if other parts of him would be just as gentle when the time came tonight. Part of her knew he wouldn't be, but the little girl in her couldn't help but hope. It was the best she could hope for, that girl, and she clung to it with all she had.

But the other part of her had grown harder already—or so she hoped—in preparation. She remembered the conversation she'd had with Meredith the night before… It was recent, yes, but it felt as if it'd happened so many years in the past. She had been timid then, asking her sister about a woman's duty, and though it was only mere hours later, she somehow felt stronger now. Older now. Maybe it was because the darkness of the night was gathering, and she was certain they would all rise to leave soon, but she was suddenly certain of this much: The world was not love stories and fairytales; it was not writ in song. The rebellion had shown them that. Good things happened, but only if one strove and really worked for such things. Alexandra was not entirely sure she felt like putting that amount of effort into her marriage… But that in no way meant that she couldn't get through tonight. She _would _get through tonight. She had to; she had no choice.

_And I promise, I _promise_ it'll be over quick._

.

Alexandra closed her eyes in relief when the coachman shut the carriage's door tight behind them only a few minutes later. For a moment, the voices outside faded to the background, and the body sitting next to her melted away. But then she opened her eyes, because she knew she was not allowed to escape reality—not yet and certainly not so easily. That would come with sleep, later, after he'd had his fill of her. She put a smile and waved out the windows as the horses started up. She caught her little sister's eye before the carriage turned away and blew her a quick but genuine kiss. It felt like the only truly honest thing she'd done all day.

Dusk turned quickly to black, black night. As the sun sunk below the horizon, the moon rose on the opposite edge, and the stars came into view with it. Alexandra's eyes traced over each constellation; she knew all of them and their exact positions in the heavens and where their names had come from by heart. She'd always liked the stars. Maybe she liked them so still because her mother had taught them to her, and it was all she had left of her, but she knew it was more likely that she loved the stars so because her mother and father had taught them to her _together_. She bit her lip; she would not think of her father, she would not think of her mother. She would not think of her sisters or her old, lost life. Those things would only make her sad, make her more prone to tears, and she had a feeling husbands hated to see their wives cry on their wedding nights. So she studied the stars instead.

There was the Shy Maid, with her face turned half away and veil drawn up; the Hero's Sword, its point sparkling in the dark night; the Warrior Horseman, with his lost head; the Mother's Light, leading the night and all its subjects across the sky each night and bringing about the morrow each day. She followed that Light, the brightest star in the sky, with her eyes as they were carried across road after road. She wondered if he would get her with his child this night, and if she would become a mother too.

When the silence had finally ruled too long for her to take, she looked away from the window and across the small compartment. He, like her, had been staring out at the night sky. Her eyes roamed over him for a few seconds before she spoke.

"Where are we going?" She wondered, suddenly realizing she had no idea in which part of the king's lands he lived.

"Home," he replied simply, still watching the night with those sharp blue eyes.

She frowned, glancing out the window momentarily. She had meant a direction, not a destination. But _that _destination… _Home_? They couldn't be going home. Her father and sister were there, and she wasn't allowed to return until she had a child… "Home?" She questioned aloud, trying to pick out familiar landmarks as the trees passed by. Everything looked the same, and nothing looked familiar. They couldn't be going home. "I don't think my father was expecting us…"

She turned back to him, confused when he only stared at her in silence. He waited for her to catch on, but when she didn't, he gave her a small smile. She got the feeling he was laughing at her. "Not _your _home, my lady," he replied patiently. "_My _home." He paused, watching her digest his words. "_Our _home," he amended softly a moment later.

She nodded slowly, but didn't open her mouth to reply or pose another question. The rest of the trip was made in silence, with the both of them staring out opposite windows.

_Our home, _she thought again and again. _Our home._ _Our home. Our home. Our. Home. _After more than three hours of travel, the phrase was still strange and unfamiliar in her mind, but it didn't matter. They'd arrived… at their home.

.

_Author's Note: Though I know this was a bit of a cliffhanger, trust me when I say it was the best place to cut it off. I thought about putting the chapter break partway through the wedding night, but I know you all would've wanted to straight-up _murder_ me if I did that.__ I'm going to be out of town for the next couple days, but I hope you all liked reading this, and will leave me some reviews to come home to when I get back :) I don't know if I'll have internet there, but I will respond to everyone's comments once I get back, if not before. Again, thank you all for reading! The wedding night isn't far off… Are you guys as nervous/excited as I am? ;)_


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10:**

Disclaimer: I own Marcus and Alexandra.

Author's Note: Believe it or not, Marcus and Alexandra's wedding night was one of the first scenes I ever wrote for this story. It's gone through a lot of revisions since _Out of My Hands _began, but it has kept its main core through all of that. I hope you all like the final product.

**Rating change:**** M, for sexual content.**

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"Oh, my," she whispered when she arrived. She turned to him, astonished at the grandeur of the building before them. _This _is home? She wondered, not knowing if she would ever get used to it. "My…" She look back up, staring at the towering castle. _It is more manor than castle, _she thought, studying the lack of battlements, gates, or murder holes. There were but two guards at the front doors, illuminated faintly by the torches held in sconces above their shoulders. "My father did not say…"

Her husband replied at once, so quickly he nearly cut her off. "No, he wouldn't have." His voice was clipped. She turned to look at him, confused when she saw how critically he eyed his own home. _But it is glorious, _she wanted to say. _What could be amiss? Not even a single stone looks out of place to me, nor the smallest speck of dirt._ Not that she could see the stones. Or the dirt. She was looking at the manor in the darkness. Who knew what might hide in the shadows that could be plain in the light of day? Who knew what she would be facing come the morrow? Alexandra shivered, feeling a chill run up her back even though the breeze had not shifted.

He noticed that, as he noticed everything. He shook off his cloak without a word and draped it over her shoulders. She felt immediately ensconced in warmth and, protected by darkness as she was, Alexandra sniffed quietly since she knew he wouldn't see her. His scent filled her nostrils and she had to close her eyes; it was so heady and potent and… _seductive_,almost. There was a quality about it that drew her in, and left her hungering for more. She wondered how that was possible, how a smell could be seductive. She opened his eyes and looked to him, realizing all at once that she wasn't surprised that the smell of him attracted her. Nearly every _part_ of him attracted her, and as much as she wished she could stay impartial and uncaring, it was becoming impossible for her when it came to him. He attracted her, like a flame does a moth. She wondered when she'd start to feel the sting of the burn.

"We should go inside," was all he said.

The guards opened the doors without a word as he strode forward, with her following quickly a few paces behind. Neither man holding their respective door spared a word or a look for her, and less for their master. They stared ahead, expressionless as statues, and slammed the doors shut closed once the two were inside.

It was dim inside as well. So dim that her eyes could barely make out the shapes and outlines of the furniture decorating the front room. A sudden thought hit her. Maybe there was no furniture. She squinted, straining to see. _Maybe he could afford a manor-like castle and pay for the wedding, but he had naught left to furnish his own home, not even enough for a candle to light the place… _She had never understood why men seemed to always have to have the best of everything. The tallest horse, the sharpest sword, the largest castle, the prettiest bride… She frowned at that last one. _Obviously he's settling for second-best with me, Father Above only knows why. _She mulled over that as he led her to the side of the large room and up the stairs. Luckily, there were a few candles on the wall to light her way, however feebly. She focused on not tripping in the dark, and followed behind him, wondering why he kept it all so black inside. She had nearly forgotten what he looked like, with all this gloom surrounding them.

When the reached the crest of the stairs, he made an abrupt right, leading her down a hallway parallel to the last section of the winding stairs. The candles grew more frequent as they walked, soon it _was _bright enough for her to see him. But by then they had reached a door, and she knew now that this was the end of the journey. It was the beginning of another one, surely, but still… an end, nonetheless.

_And I promise, I _promise_ it'll be over quick._

Alexandra suddenly felt that fear grip her again. It rooted itself deep in her stomach and tied all of her intestines together in a painful, unbreakable knot. She held back the quietest whimper, not wanting to seem an inexperienced girl to him, even though that's what she knew she was. She would not seem it or show it, not in his presence. She wouldn't dare.

Before she could gather her thoughts or her breath, his hand was on the doorknob and he was turning it.

She had been expecting handmaidens when she entered the room, or at the very least, some type of womanly assistance. She had also expected him to retire to his own room, and for them to meet somewhere in the middle.

She stared, with her lower lip hanging down, at the sight before her.

She would get none of what she expected, it seemed.

But a little voice inside her whispered that this might be better.

.

If she had actually _thought_ about the absence of light throughout the rest of the house, she might've come to the conclusion that the candles that usually lit the lamps, the chandeliers, and the wall sconces were somewhere else. And if she had pressed her wonderings as to why there were no servants, maids, or guards within the walls, she might've come to this conclusion that he had ordered them away. But she hadn't thought about it, because she was too nervous about what was _going _to happen, not what had _already_ happened.

She looked around the room in awe, not knowing what to think. She blinked several times, not able to accept that what her eyes were perceiving was reality.

There were candles strewn across the entire room, covering every flat and stable surface. It was not a simple few near the bed or the side tables or at the foot of the bed… No, they were _everywhere._ Everywhere Alexandra looked, there were candles. Tall ones, short ones, fat, thin… Their waxes ranged from traditional beeswax to more refined styles and colors. Yellow, white, blue, burgundy, green, purple… Near every color a painter could mix on their pallets was there, frozen in hard wax and ready to melt. Each flame burned bright and tall, proud and dancing. The glow illuminated the whole room, as if the sun had shattered into a hundred little pieces to light the space, just for them. _No, _Alexandra realized with a start. _Not just for us. Just for _me_._

The thought rendered her completely speechless.

"I did not know which color you liked," he murmured from somewhere to her right. His voice shocked her back to reality, though reality seemed more like a dream, and made her jump. For some reason, she'd thought she was alone when she looked into that sea of candles. "Your father said you had no preference." He took a slow breath, surveying the room. "So I brought all I could find, and bought some too." He sounded unimpressed, and she couldn't fathom why. This simple gesture was beyond all her wildest imaginations. She had never thought he—or anyone else, for that matter—would do something like this for her. Who _was _he?

She stared at him, as much in astonishment at the meaning behind his words as at the spectacle before them. _He did this all himself?_ "You…" Again, she wondered who he was, who he truly was.

"A few of the maids worried it might give rise to a great fire," he continued, ignoring her lone, solitary word and the shock on her face. "I told them I would take full blame if such happened." He almost smiled when he looked at her, but not quite. "Do not fear," he assured her. "A fire won't catch, I promise."

The candlelight flickered in his eyes when he looked at her, as, she knew, it must in hers.

His eyes fell for a moment, looking her over. She was still in her white wedding dress, still covered with his travelling cloak. She suddenly felt very self-conscious of the dust and grit around the hem. It had hung too low on her, and therefore had scraped across the ground before they'd stepped inside. She hoped she hadn't ruined it. She would have to find someone to wash it, quickly and secretly, before she returned it. She was thinking she could approach one of those maids he'd mentioned when he stepped towards her.

He leaned close, lowering himself to her level. She felt her heartbeat quicken from its usual walk to a hammering canter in her chest as she listened to him inhale and begin to learn the scent of her. Without meaning to, she felt her eyes fall closed. They flew open when his lips touched the top of her right cheek. His mouth lingered there a moment, and all the while his lips were on her, she was sure she didn't take or give a single breath.

She managed to blink her eyes as he pulled back. His looked bluer in the candlelight, though she could not say warmer. _They are not colder, neither, though._

"I will give you some time alone." His voice was hushed, yet still it stirred her. He tipped his chin to the clock hanging on the wall beside the bed. "I will return when the clock strikes twelve."

She nodded shallowly, still unable to speak. He leaned forward again, and pressed another kiss to her opposite cheek. Again, his lips lingered. And again, she felt the heat flicker low in her belly. She was about to reach out to touch him, to pull him close for a kiss—a _real_ kiss this time, _finally_—but before she could, he had stepped away.

The next minute, he was gone, and she was left alone with her candles. They flickered up at her, teasing and taunting and promising. She felt the sudden urge, as she stared down at them, to make a wish. She knew she should wish for fertility, for numerous and strong sons. And she did; she wished for that.

But as her eyes roamed over the candles again, she made other wishes, too, and sent out her secret hopes, as silly and stupid and meaningless as they were. She wished he would be nice to her, and gentle, if he could. She wished he would start to like her, soon, and maybe grow to love her one day. She wished they would have a long and fruitful life together, that they would bring each other joy.

And, again, she wished for sons. Many sons, strong sons.

She wished for him to plant one inside her tonight. She didn't care if she was ready or not—whether she was certainly didn't matter, so why should she worry? She knew if all her other wishes went unfulfilled save for this one, at least it would be worth it. Her duty in life would be complete, and he would be happy with her, pleased.

…And then, maybe, after their son was born, he might start to learn how to love her. Maybe, after their son was born, he would be kind and gentle to her, he would kiss her and call her sweet names, and treat her the way Derek treated Meredith.

_Yes, _she thought to herself, squeezing her eyes shut, _and maybe after our son is born I will stop being a child and a girl, and start being a woman and a wife, and focus my prayers on real and attainable things instead of a maiden's naïve and unrealistic dreams._

.

Alexandra undressed slowly, mindful of each and every candle within a three-foot radius, which happened to be very many. She slipped off his cloak and draped it over a nearby chair. Not seeing any place to hang up her dress, she decided to do the same with it. What did it matter if it got wrinkled? It wasn't like she'd ever wear it again.

Undressing took a long while. The dress wasn't complicated, exactly, but it wasn't simple, either, and it was hardly a job she could do by herself. She spent a few seconds lost in panic, if he returned and she was still dressed—what? What would he do? She didn't know and she didn't know if she _wanted _to know.

She struggled through the laces of her gown, breathing a huge sigh of relief when she finally felt it loosen. The corset came next, and after that, all she was dressed in were her flimsy underclothes. She looked down at herself, wondering if she was supposed to take those off too. She decided to wait until he told her, for she didn't know if she could bear standing there completely naked the moment he returned, all the while seeing the judgment in his eyes. She took out the pins in her hair next. Though she'd kept most of it down, a few pieces had been pulled from the front of her head to the back, to keep her face clear and her hair out of the way. She left the pins in a small pile on top of one of the chests by the door, not having known where else to dispose of them, and hoped he wouldn't mind.

When she finished, she just stood by the door and stared at the sea of candles before her. She found herself wondering if George would have done this on their wedding night, had they gotten the chance to fulfill their betrothal. Somehow, though she wasn't quite sure why, she doubted he would have. She crossed the room slowly, carefully placing each of her feet so as to step between the candles and not burn the lacy hem of her chemise. She sat gingerly on the bed, and glanced at the clock again. Fifteen minutes until the midnight hour. She sat idle for a few more moments, but soon her imagination got the better of her.

What was she supposed to do? Wait? Or go find him? Was there a different room she was supposed to meet him in, after all? Was just the prelude? And he gave her half an hour; why so much time? It did not take more than mere minutes to disrobe, even without ladies to help her.

A thought struck her, and she felt her stomach drop to her toes. Did he expect her to… _start_… without him? She'd heard of it. She'd heard of men who liked to watch women pleasure themselves. But he wasn't here to watch. _Unless…_ Her arms jumped to cover her breasts over her underclothes as her eyes darted about the room. She rose to her feet, taking a more careful look…

Until she realized that was preposterous.

She was his wife, he was her husband… And not some overly curious peasant boy from town. If he wanted to see her without clothes, all he need do was walk in the door; he didn't need to peep. She looked to the clock again. She was dismayed to see that only a minute had passed. _Why is time moving so slowly? _She began to pace.

When she next looked at the door he had disappeared through nearly twenty minutes prior, he was standing in its frame. Her eyes went so wide at the sight of him, he feared they might fall out. They did not; instead, they stayed in place, and roamed over his thinly robed person. His undershirt was loose and, like hers, nearly see-through. As her eyes traced the trails his muscles made across his chest and upper arms, she found herself wishing it were tighter. She had never seen him so thinly clothed before, and she wanted to admire the way she knew such restrictive clothing would hug the curves and slopes of his muscles.

She suddenly felt very aware of her body. She was studying him, of course, but that was because he was, without question or dispute, the most handsome man she'd ever laid eyes on. He was the most handsome man _anyone _had ever laid eyes on, she might argue. But she… She was not the most beautiful woman anyone had ever laid eyes on. She certainly not the most beautiful woman in the village of her birth, and not even in her own family. She remembered her sister's wedding, and how he'd said something to make Meredith smile, even when she was almost shaking with nerves. No doubt he found her to be the prettiest of the Grey girls; everyone else always did.

The thought made her hang her head, and as she looked down at her feet, she was dismayed to notice she had not trimmed her toenails recently. _Another failure and folly on my part. _They were longer than they should've been, and he noticed everything, so he must have…

When she looked back up to meet his eyes and explain, she was surprised to find that his were not fixated on her toes. In fact, as she watched, she saw that his eyes never dipped any lower than just between the tops of her thighs. Where his eyes went, she could feel it on her body. They left a trail of fire from her face to her breasts, down her stomach to her private place between her legs, the space no one but her had seen or touched. His eyes lingered there a while, and she found that the attention made her nipples grow tight and hard. Though they poked points through her chemise, she wasn't as embarrassed as she might've been otherwise. He was standing tall and strong and confident before her… Somehow—and she didn't know how—just being in the same room as that commanding presence had made her confident, too. He had taken her over, not just mind but whole being as well, and her body's reply was simple: _I want more._

When his eyes finally rose and he caught side of her pert, peaked breasts, she could see his manhood change shape beneath his smallclothes. Without meaning to, she felt that womanly place between her legs tingle with want. She clenched her thighs together, but that only made her lower belly erupt in flames. She held back a soft moan at the half-torturous half-blissful sensation, and watched him instead. She tried not to stare so obviously… But it was hard. _He _was hard, it seemed. And _big_. She wondered, suddenly panicked, if he would fit inside her. She had a feeling that that cavern between her legs was not very deep, nor very wide. Even if his entire length could slide inside her, would his girth stop him before he even began? She felt a blush creep up her cheeks for thinking such things, and she forced her eyes to lift to his. She had been looking at him for too long, she knew.

"I'm early," he finally said, breaking the tense silence. "I hope you don't mind."

"E—Early?" She had forgotten all meaning of the word. She could barely remember her own name, or her family's crest. She swallowed. But it wasn't hers anymore, was it? _His_ was now hers. His family name, his family crest, his home, _him_… All hers. She closed her eyes, and her mind momentarily vacated at the thought, and then swam at the realization: _He…_ _is mine._

"I wanted to give you your time," he explained. "But the clock…" He glanced to it, and so did she. Eight minutes until midnight, it read. "It was ten before when I realized I couldn't possibly wait those last few minutes."

_He wanted me. _She didn't know why, but she was suddenly sure of this idea, this fact, suddenly filled with the truth of it. She felt gooseflesh prickle over her arms and legs, and her heart began hammering against her will at the thought, which she quickly amended. _Not wanted. Wants. He _wants _me_. _Right here, right now. He wants me._ The realization sent a shiver through her bones, and made her heart beat faster and faster.

.

He couldn't stop staring at her.

She drew his eye like the _clink _of spare coins would draw a beggar. And like that beggar would take those coins and never let go, he felt like holding her close, tucking her in his arms… He forced himself to take a breath, to remember who he was, who she was.

_She's my wife._

That was easy enough to answer. Who he was, though, was an entirely different question.

No doubt she'd heard the tales. No doubt she knew already what sort of man he was.

He felt his heart quicken at the thought, and soon it was pounding in his chest, loud and unrelenting like a wardrum. He promised himself then, as he focused his eyes on hers, that he would show her he was different. The tales only told one side of the story, and it was not a side he was eager for her to take as his true self. Not if she was to be his wife. _To be…_

There was no 'to be' about it. She _was _his wife. It was all said and done, there was only one formality left.

He almost smiled. No doubt that was what was plaguing her—not him and his infamous reputation, but… what was about to happen between them. He almost cursed aloud for not giving it a thought. He'd brushed away Derek earlier, angrily, when he'd tried to tell him words of wisdom. Marcus suddenly wished his boyhood friend were here now, just for a moment, just to tell him the perfect way to do things. No doubt he knew. He was the kind of man who always took a woman's feelings into consideration; he was a man who cared; he was a rare man. Not for the first time—and not for the last, he was sure—did Marcus Sloan wish he were a bit more like Derek Shepherd.

He shook off the thought, though, and shook his head in the process. He didn't need Derek. What man didn't know how to deflower a maiden? There were only so many holes one could stick it in, and he had an inkling of which she might prefer above the others.

He looked over at her again, forcing all his thoughts away. _Her. You should be focusing on her, not Derek. Not yourself. Her, only her._ _Think of her. _He stared at his wife for a long moment before he finally realized what was wrong. She was shaking like a leaf. _Poor thing, _he thought at once, apparently having forgotten that Marcus Sloan did not think such things. Her arms were crossed over her middle; her hands clutched at her upper arms with her fingernails digging into the skin. She looked as if she might make herself bleed with how tightly she was trying to hold herself together.

He tried not to frown, knowing she'd take it the wrong way. He did not want to be the one to force her apart. If he had had any kind of say in the matter, he would have waited longer. He would have done as Derek did, and eased her into it… He suddenly felt like walking away. All of this was happening too fast. He didn't want a wife. He'd never wanted a wife.

_But he wanted her._

And here she stood… Shaking and clawing at her own skin, waiting for him to make some sort of advance towards her. He hoped she knew what was coming. He could treat her gently, certainly, but he was unsure as to if he could sit her down and explain what was going to happen between them this night. He pursed his lips, perusing over her barely-clothed frame again. _No, _he decided, _she is not ignorant of what is about to happen._ He blinked, letting his eyes fall closed. He had felt relief at first, but now…

_She is a maiden, but not a stupid one. She knows exactly what is going to happen._

He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, as if hoping that might make his next thought less true.

_And yet she fears me anyway._

He opened his eyes, and watched as her gaze immediately fled from his. He frowned slightly, wishing she would trust him more. He could not understand how she found him so fearsome and threatening. He wasn't going to attack her. Some men might, but he wouldn't. He _couldn't_. _Can't she just trust me?_

_But why should she?_ Part of him asked. He was not one to be trusted, that had been proven time and time again. He was a man of many women, and it would've been hard for her not to have heard the stories and made assumptions for herself.

_But I picked her, didn't I? I picked her and now she's all I have now, all I get._ He closed his eyes. _And I'm all she has, poor girl. Not a very fair trade._

He began walking towards her slowly. He saw one of her feet begin to take a step back as he did so, but she caught herself and returned the limb to its proper place. She was scared, that much was obvious, but she knew better than to show it so blatantly. He hoped that by the end of the night she would not fear him anymore—or, at the very least—that she would fear him less.

Carefully, he made his way across the plush carpet to where she was standing. When he came to a stop, they were nearly toe-to-toe, and he could hear her breathe. Her breaths were shallow, and though he tried to search her face for emotion, he could see none. Her head was bent down, she was staring at her toes… _or more likely, _he reasoned with a half-frown, _me._ His hardness was one of the few things separating them. He was not even at full-mast, not nearly, but that part of him still drew her wide, worried eyes.

He lifted a hand from his side and placed it under her chin. She almost jumped at the touch, but soon let him smoothly raise her face to his. He stared into her eyes as he held her face aloft, searching their nearly unreadable brown depths for any clue of what she was thinking. He got nothing. He knew he should say something. He should soothe her, somehow, make her worries wash away like dust during a rainstorm, but his mind was blank.

_Derek would know what to say._

But he wasn't Derek. He sighed, louder than he'd intended, at that fact. Something flickered across her face—some kind of emotion, sorrow, or anger, maybe—but it was gone so quick he didn't have time to place it. _I'm not Derek, _he thought again. _Derek would know what to say. Derek would know what words to use and when, how to put her at ease._

But he wasn't Derek. So instead of thinking up the perfect assurance to tell her, he bent down, leaned forward, and brushed his lips against hers. She let out a small whimper when his mouth covered hers, and he half-worried for a moment that he'd taken his frustration out on her and hurt her… but then she leaned into him. His eyes shot open when her body came in contact with his, but hers remained closed—she looked so peaceful with her eyes closed like that, and her mouth attached to his. It almost made think—just for one second—that she wanted him like he wanted her.

His hand fell from supporting her chin to sliding down the side of her neck. From there, it rounded her shoulder and then fell even lower. She gasped quietly into their kiss when he cupped her small breast. He tested its light weight in his large hand, palming it softly. He rubbed his thumb over the already hardened nipple through the fabric, the slightest smirk appearing on his face when she squirmed in place. _Good._ He broke their kiss when he switched to the other breast and then leaned forward and placed his lips at her neck. He heard her let out the softest sigh as he touched her, and he kissed her skin harder in return.

When he pulled back minutes later, his mouth had left faint red spots behind around the skin of her collarbone and she was near to panting as she leaned against him. _Is this how it always is? _She found herself wondering, her earlier anxiety having turned to amazement as he continued to stroke and kiss her and bring life to her previously untouched and unexplored body. _Does it always feel this good, each and every time?_ She had heard stories, she had spoken with her sister, but she never thought…

Her wonderings were cut off when he kissed her again. His lips were more commanding this time. He didn't waste time with her cheeks or neck, simply went right to her mouth and claimed it rightfully as his. She couldn't hold back the moan in her throat when his mouth took hers like that. His lips were soft and full, but combined with the sharp scratchiness of his beard… A shiver went through her, and she found herself instinctively pressing closer to him again. _I want more, _her body whispered to her again, _more and more and more_.

Though she hadn't voiced her wants aloud, he somehow knew what she had been thinking, knew what she wanted. Slowly, all the while engaging her in a deep kiss, he backed her towards the bed. She sucked in a breath when the backs of her legs hit the bedspread, but her wobbly knees were thankful for the respite as she sank onto the soft mattress gratefully. Their lips parted for but a moment as he lowered himself to her level, advancing forward and taking her with him. Her head hit the pillow at the head of the bed with a soft _thwap _as she laid back down for the last time_. _She sank into it immediately, sighing happily. She never knew cushions could be so soft. She was reaching back with a hand to discover its contents, what sort of feather, when she froze.

His hands had left her sides, slid down her stomach… And now they were resting atop her still-joined thighs. Her knees were bunched up high between them—involuntarily, Alexandra noted, for she couldn't remember forcing them up there to work as a barrier—but still she could see his arousal looming over them, long and stiff and pointed towards her as if making an accusation…or a claim. Her mouth went dry at the sight of it, and she found she had no idea what to think. Or do.

Yet he did.

"Lie back," he instructed quietly. He paused a moment, staring at her, and then added softly, "And don't be afraid."

She almost laughed. _Don't be afraid? Surely easy for him to say. _He was not the one losing his maidenhood to a complete stranger. _An otherworldly handsome and seductive stranger_, the girl in Alexandra sighed happily. _But a stranger nonetheless_, reality reminded her, cold and hard and wary as always.

She laid back anyway, following his instructions. She lowered her knees, as well, though he did not tell her to do so, and parted her thighs, though he said nothing of it. She knew that much was expected of her, at least. _Spread out and lie back, that's all I have to do. Take it and don't complain. _"I'm not afraid." She tried to sound strong and confident, but her whispery voice shook as much as her body, betraying her yet again.

He smiled in a way that told her he knew she was lying, yet still remained friendly. "Of course you're not," he murmured. She was surprised not to hear a mocking bite to his voice, and she was grateful to him for that. She couldn't not take his merciless mocking—not now, not here, not when they were about to…

"I'm going to touch you now," he murmured, interrupting her thoughts.

She swallowed, feeling her throat run dry and all the moisture in her mouth evaporate. She stared at him, watching as he took in the sight between her parted thighs. She shivered when he let out a soft groan—as deep in his throat as it had been, it sounded nearer to a noise an animal would make than a man. Her heartbeat picked up at it, whether in fear or anticipation even she couldn't say, but she couldn't remove her eyes from him.

After what seemed like an eternity, he finally looked up and met her gaze. She remembered what he'd said moments ago, and heeded those words as a warning this time around. _I'm going to touch you now._ She took a breath. _Don't be afraid, don't be afraid, don't be afraid—_

She gasped aloud when he put his finger inside her. She could feel him so completely there, she could feel him all over… She closed her eyes, willing her body to adjust to the feel of it inside her. Slowly and gently, he moved it within her, thrusting it almost. She wondered for a naïve minute why he was doing that—why that motion—and then blushed when she realized what he must be mimicking. _His cock._ She shut her eyes tighter at the thought, and swallowed again. She wished she would stop blushing. Her face felt afire.

After a time, he could feel her body grow loose around him, enough for him to add a second finger. By that time, she had begun whimpering softly, so he knew she must be ready. She was wet now; he could feel her essence on his fingers, sticky and no doubt sweet as honey. He withdrew his hand, smiling at the little squeak of complaint she gave when his touch was gone. He promised her silently that it would all be rectified in a moment.

He crawled onto his hands and knees then, and covered her body with his. He lined himself up at her entrance, and after pausing for a moment, slowly began to push inside. Slowly, _slowly_, he cautioned himself, trying to remember that she was but a girl and this was her first time… But she was tightening around him already. She was so hot, and wet, and she gripped him _so tight_… that he just couldn't help himself. _It's been so long_, he thought, delirious with pleasure and want as he sheathed himself fully inside her not a second later. He felt like laughing at the thought and then crying at how good she felt around him.

And gods, did she feel _good_. He could not remember a woman's body ever feeling so magnificent wrapped around him as this woman's did. His lips flicked up, and he wondered once again, as so many had, why he didn't take more maidens. _I prefer experience to innocence, _was his usual answer. He was an experienced man, and he didn't like wasting time with those who could not match his skill. …But more oft than not, the fact of the matter was, he would see their big, wide eyes and nubile skin and he would know that he was taking something anyway from them, something they could never get back. So instead, he'd grab the nearest whore with a bit of Father Time etched into her skin, and fuck her hard until he forgot about the wide-eyed maidens. They could take it, he knew. The others could not, would not, and he had no desire to force them.

It was hard to imagine that the last woman he'd had beneath him that had held any meaning was Addison... But like the rest, she too, had proved to have no meaning in the end.

But not Alexandra. Not this girl. This girl had meaning. This girl was his wife.

.

His wife was crying.

She was trying to hide it, but the tears had already escaped at it was so horribly, horribly obvious. Every drop of moisture that fell down her cheeks was hot and damning, and she wished she had control of herself. He'd hate her for this. He hate her for ruining everything with her feminine tears and blood and… _Oh, gods, I've stained the sheets._ She bit down hard on her lower lip, trying not to think about that, trying not to think about what was inside her, trying not to think at all. She squeezed her eyes shut, ignoring the tears, and hoping he would ignore them as well, as she waited for him to pull himself out and then thrust back in. She told herself it would be less painful the second time, but only half of her—the girl that was being forced into a late exile—believed. The rest of her was certain it would only get worse.

"Is the pain really so much?"

Her eyes shot open at the sound of his voice, and she felt her heart hammer at his question as she looked into his eyes. She could see something akin to sorrow in his blue gaze, but she couldn't understand why it was there. She had heard the lamentation in his tone, too, and it made her want to laugh. _Since when do men care?_ But then he shifted above her, bracing his weight more fully, and she sobered completely. She could feel him inside her again. It was not a good feeling. _But not a bad feeling, neither._

"No," she lied, sucking in a breath. _I must get this over with, _she thought._ Quick, it will be quick. Meredith said it would be quick. She promised._ "I'm fine," she whispered, wishing her voice didn't sound so hushed and scared.

His lips formed a hard line, and staring up at him, seeing his body braced above—and knowing it was inside—hers, she suddenly felt very afraid. "It would do well for you to have learned by now, Alexandra, that I do not suffer liars."

His voice was cold and hard, and she cowed under his startlingly serious gaze. She was automatically reminded of how the first words she'd ever truly said to him were a lie, and embarrassment made her words now run together now like a common girl's would. "Yes, m'lord," she mumbled, her eyes downcast. They hovered over his chest; she couldn't look down, for his manhood was still in plain sight. And she couldn't look up, because she couldn't face his piercing eyes again. She spoke to his chest, memorizing the shape of his clearly defined muscles there. She wanted to touch them. "It does not hurt… horribly," she began, licking her lips. "But it does… hurt." She took a small breath. "It was more surprise than pain, though," she added, already realizing the truth of her words as she said them. "I hadn't expected you to…" She trailed off. _But I _should _have expected it, _she reminded herself, annoyed at her lapse in judgment. _I should have expected him to take me however he pleased. _She realized a second later that it was his gentility at the start that confused her and muddled her brain. _That _was what she hadn't expected. _That _was what confused everything. _Why did he bring me candles?_

She drew a breath now, forcing herself to finally meet his eyes. Maybe he would still be gentle if she asked nicely. "Maybe if my lord went… slower?" She suggested timidly. "Then, it might, might not be so… so… uncomfortable?"

.

Marcus sighed, closing his eyes. In all honesty, he had _thought _he was going slow. At the beginning, at least. He had thought he was being gentle, and caring for her side of things. He had not taken her all at once without warning like she was a bitch in heat; that had to count for something, surely?

He shook his head. It didn't count for anything—because he'd done just that: he'd taken her like an animal would, taken her like any other man would. He had forced himself inside her, and it hadn't mattered that he had thought she was ready at the time—she clearly _hadn't been_.

Why did he always do this? Why did he always let his manhood get the better of him, always let his cock control his life? If he was going to fix this at all, he had to do it now—so he started right away, by pulling himself out of her.

"No," she whimpered automatically when he began to unsheathe himself from her. "Come—Come back."

He couldn't help but smile. She had been crying from the pain of having him inside her a minute ago, but now… She didn't want him to leave. She wanted him inside her, she wanted him to fill her… And he wanted to do so as painlessly as possibly. _She told me to come back. That is nothing if not a good sign, _he thought. He realized he had already ruined much of her first time, but he hoped to the gods he could make up for it. If the rest of the night went smoothly, maybe she'd forget how it began. It was unlikely, he knew, but if he tried hard enough…

His eyes found hers as he began to line himself up with her slit again. "I'm not going anywhere," he murmured softly. "Never fear."

"Truly?" She looked up at him, her eyes wide and dark and full of innocence even as she laid naked beneath him. Her hands shifted from merely touching his sides to his neck and shoulders, caressing him there. He knew her question did not just concern what went on in their marriage bed.

He leaned down, lowering his mouth to hers. One hand went to her hair as the other found her breast and she _moaned _when he touched her there_._ It was long and loud; a product of his hands touching her in so many places and so many ways that she had never been touched before, she couldn't think straight. She hardly knew what the sound was that escaped her, but he delighted in it all the same. When he pulled back, her moan died away and she panted for breath instead. He stared at her lips, blood red and swollen, before replying, "Truly."

He leaned down again, determined to do things better this time, and planted his mouth on her slim shoulder. She shuddered when his beard scratched her skin; the feeling set off sparks of desire deep in her womanly core. She could feel that space between her thighs grow wetter and slicker as he continued; she could feel his hardness begin to probe her again, carefully. "My lord…" She couldn't help but moan again, and she did not hold back the noise. There was no one in the house or anywhere nearby to hear, she figured, so there was no reason to be embarrassed. And from the way she could feel his manhood grow inside her, she was sure he enjoyed her volume.

He switched to her other shoulder, kissing and scratching there as he had on the first one. Her hands were at his back now, pulling him closer. "Oh," she whispered when he trailed his lips to the center of her chest. He dragged his head down to the valley between her breasts, pausing there for a moment before leaning to the right. He gave that breast a long, wet lick and suckled her nipple into his mouth. He smiled when she let out another moan, and pushed himself a bit deeper inside of her. Her space was slicker now, and it was much easier for him to move. He watched her for signs, but not again did she gasp in pain or struggle and fail to hold back tears. He moved to her other breast, giving it the same treatment; again, he moved deeper within her. She didn't protest when he left her next; maybe she knew now that he was coming right back.

It did not take much after that. Not more than a few strokes, and a quick brush at the protruding nub above her slit, and he could feel her body fall apart around him. The floodgates opened then, and as a weak cry escaped her mouth and her back bowed up from the bed, her inner juices were released. They coated him as he was still thrusting, and mixed with the blood that had been spilled on the sheets. He released soon after that, near as fast as her, relieved that he did not have to hold out any longer. He had been strung tight all night, having to go slow, and finally, finally being able to let go had been a wondrous blessing.

He tried not to crush her when he hit his peak, but his body collapsed under him, and all he had to hold himself up was his forearms. She gasped when his hands slid out from their stanch places on either side of her, but luckily he managed to catch himself before completely crushing her. It was another minute or two before he had the strength to move and roll off of her. He heard her breath catch as his now-flaccid cock slid out of her. He fell against the bed heavily, and ended up facing her only by accident.

She smiled when she caught his eye. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice soft as a feather. "Thank you for…" She yawned, and he saw her eyes droop before she continued, "Thank you for the candles, my lord, they were beautiful."

He stared at her, surprised, and struggled to come up with a response. But by the time he thought of one—_They were for you_—she had already fallen asleep. She was exhausted, he was sure… But he felt wide awake, and he stayed like that, lying beside her, for many hours afterwards. He watched her, studied her, thought about her. More than once, he felt himself grow hard again, but he ignored it, preferring to rule with his head and let her sleep instead. She was so peaceful when she slept. Her was hair spread out against the pillow behind her, and though a few strands were caught on her lips, he made no move to remove them. He didn't want to wake her.

Against his will, he thought of Addison—as he did whenever he shared a bed with a woman that wasn't her—and remembered the way _she _had slept. He imagined her like that, just for a moment… But soon the moment took him over, the way her body always did whenever she used to bare it to him.

_She was naked as the day she was born, with her red fair flaming from her face like a firestorm. He should have realized that from the start there was nothing good about fire—and saved himself from getting burned. Of course he didn't, and he suffered much more than the faint lick of the candle he might've gotten with other women. She was dangerous, he knew that from the start—that's what he'd always liked about her. But he should've known better. Her elbows and knees all made sharp angles, sharp enough for him to cut himself on. The only softness she had were her ample breasts and the only warmth in her was hidden between her thighs, and he had to work to gain access to either. She never gave anything freely—love least of all—not even to him, though he fancied himself different from the countless others. Everything had a price with her, he soon learned, and he paid it every time, though in the end it proved to be a much greater cost than he ever knew or ever hoped to know at the start. _

_She did not sleep peacefully or restfully; only in fits and spurts and never once through an entire night, even after they'd gone to bed enough times to exhaust any other couple. She would always wake afterwards, whenever he shifted the smallest degree in bed, or at the slightest noise in the room. She was ever suspicious of him—ever wondering where he was going or whom he was seeing or what he was irony and hypocrisy of her fears should have made him laugh, but even years after the fact, it did nothing but rankle him. She proved to be just as restless in waking as she was in slumber, and the only peace he had known with her was long after she'd left him behind._

Marcus blinked, clearing his mind at once when he caught himself thinking of her. He tried not to do that anymore these days. He looked to his left, and felt relief rush through his body when he caught sight of that unfamiliar dark hair next to him—as opposed to the well-known flaming red that haunted him more nights than he'd care to admit. As he watched her sleep, he took notice of the many differences between the two women; the only two he had ever really known.

Where Addison was forever suspicious, Alexandra—_somehow_—already seemed to trust him. He tested her, sitting up in bed. Even though the mattress creaked, she didn't wake. He smiled. He liked that. He liked how peaceful and beautiful she looked, now and—he couldn't help but recall—when he'd helped her reach her pleasure. Immediately, he felt his staff harden, more so than ever. He was sorely tempted to wake her, but he held back. It was then he realized that he would never have done so for Addison, would've never given her that courtesy.

No, instead, he would've woken her the moment he began to harden, and she would've sat astride him at the very first drop of moisture. They would fuck long into the night, but it was always a race, always a contest. They would wake each other up at late hours, and at times, one would begrudge the other for their wants and simply lie back and act as a vessel for pleasure. More oft than not, the other didn't take offense; they simply took what they wanted and then went back to sleep.

But with Alexandra…

The corners of his lips twitched up, recalling her frequent blush. The way she stammered through her words. The quiet, almost soundless way she moved. The touch of her hand and the feel of her mouth… His eyes closed. He could still feel her full, red lips pressed against his. He could feel her small hands, gripping his shoulders and silently urging him on once she was ready. He lost himself in memories for a time, until he realized that his eyes were drooping.

He yawned and got out of bed. He did so slowly and carefully; he did not want to wake her. He swayed on his feet for a moment, and quickly sank into a squat. He began by blowing out the candles closest to him, and gradually moved across the room. He meant to pick them up as well, but by the time he had finished with his first task, he was near to asleep. The smoke was fogging his head, and he thought it best to return to bed in case he collapsed amongst the hot wax.

He slipped in beneath the covers next to her and rested his head on his pillow. She did not move an inch, but mumbled softly in her sleep. His lips twitched up even as he yawned quietly, thinking the word she'd mumbled might've been his name. He wondered, just as he fell asleep, if she was dreaming of him.

He knew he would dream of her.

.

_Author's Note: I hope you all liked this chapter. Like I said, it was one of the first I wrote for this story, long before I had any of the backstory planned out. I hope it fit in seamlessly, though, since that's what I aimed for. Thank you all for reading, and please leave your thoughts and comments on the chapter below. Reviews are _always _warmly appreciated._

_Also: I dont know if any of you go on my LJ (fais2688 . livejournal . com), but I've been on there a lot recently. It's kind of my go-to place on the internet. But anyway, I'm mentioning it because I am going to upload a post-full of pictures and music for this chapter-soon, and I'll make it available to the public so that all of you from FFN can see it. If you'd like to friend me on there, though, you are more than welcome to do so; then you will be able to see all my locked stories and private posts. My LJ is pretty much friends-only, but I'll accept anyone who asks happily :)_

_Thank you all for reading. Please leave a review, and I hope you get a chance to check out the post on my LJ later._


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11:**

_Author's Note: Thank you all SO MUCH for your reviews. You have no idea how happy it made me that you guys enjoyed their wedding night. I was so, so worried about that chapter. I hope you enjoy this one as well._

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He did dream of her, as it turned out, but they were not pleasant dreams.

His mind replayed that first moment inside her again and again and again, until he'd seen the tears on her cheeks so many times that he'd been able to memorize the exact placement of each drop of moisture. When he looked down to ask what was wrong—she'd been so happy and inviting a moment ago—all he could see where her tears and her blood.

He tried pulling back, tried leaving her alone, but that only made things worse. His cock glistened in the candlelight when he withdrew it, covered in her blood. He could feel the heat rise in his body, and he hated himself for the fact that his cock remained prominent and full and hard, even through everything. The heat rose higher and higher then, and suddenly he realized it wasn't attraction between them—there wasn't any, anyway, not for her, at least—but fire. It was licking at his heels, swirling around the bed, and when he looked over his shoulder, he found the entire room engulfed in flames. _A few of the maids worried it might give rise to a great fire…_

"You promised!" She was screaming at him now, and sobbing, and covered in blood from the waist down. Her face was a contorted mask of desperation, of hatred, of terror. "You promised nothing bad would happen! You promised you'd take care of me!"

"I…" He didn't have a response. He never had a response.

"You told me not to be scared." She was whimpering now, her lower lip and chin trembling horribly as more tears fell down her cheeks. It was a constant flow now, a heartbreaking waterfall. "How can I not be scared? How can I not be terrified? _How?_"

And even with the fire raging around them, the heat oppressive and the smoke choking, Marcus knew death wasn't what she feared. She was looking up at him with those big brown eyes, cowering beneath him, shivering and crying, and he knew it was him—and only him—that she truly feared.

He tried to think of something to calm her. He tried to think of a way to give her peace of mind. But the fire had sapped his strength, smashed his willpower, and as the flames began curling up the sides of the bed, he realized it was too late to make her feel better. It was too late to do anything.

"I'm not going anywhere," he always whispered, just before the flames engulfed them both. It was only after he'd said the words that he always realized she wouldn't perceive them as comforting. He never had time to tell her not to fear like he did the night before. They were always ash by then.

.

Marcus Sloan woke up sweating.

The heat was so horribly overwhelming, and his dream so fresh in his mind, that he thought for a moment it was all true. He could see the flames, feel the heat… But then he blinked, and the wind shifted, and he realized that it was just a hot day. It was a day where nature felt the need to remind man that by its books, it was still summer, and autumn was far off. Marcus usually loved the heat, but today—today he _hated _it.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to forget his dream. But he couldn't. The heat wasn't helping, and it wouldn't have mattered even if it was ice cold outside—some of the heat was inside his own body, and he hated _that_ heat more than any weather Mother Nature might stir up.

He was just taking a slow, calming breath, when he heard a rustle in the sheets. His entire body froze automatically, locked up tight, as he listened to her mumble a couple letters in her sleep. He knew he shouldn't—he knew _couldn't_… But he looked over to her anyway.

The sight of her hit him like a hard punch in the gut, and he half-expected himself to double over at the view. God, she was beautiful. Her hair was spread out on the bed, tangled out behind her head and up in the pillows. The left side of her head was pressed solidly into the pillow she clutched tightly, and her face looked so serene, so at peace. He hoped to every god he knew that she was having better dreams than he'd had.

His eyes trailed down her body—his mind couldn't stop them—and a little part of him collapsed inside when he saw that the sheet that had been wrapped up around her shoulders earlier had fallen away. She was bare from the top of her back to just the crest of her buttocks, and she was lying on her stomach—but it was enough. The swell of her breast was obvious, even pressed into the mattress as it was. The skin of her back looked so smooth. He wanted to touch it, to stroke it, to kiss it and run his hands all over it.

But he couldn't. He'd never be able to, because doing that would only lead to other things.

His eyes drifted further, down past her hidden legs and feet and _there… _There was the blood. There was the proof of what he'd done to her.

_I raped her._

He shut his eyes at the thought. He turned his head from it, turned his head from her, and tried to bury it in his mind. But it was impossible. It was the truth, and the truth—try as one might—can never be fully buried. And gods, was it true.

She hadn't wanted him. She hadn't even liked him. He had forced the want out of her, though he never would be able to force the like, let alone love. Part of him laughed at that thought. When would any woman _ever_ love him? His mother hadn't, and if she was any indication—and she obviously was, considering what had transpired between him and members of the female sex in the decades after his birth—it was clear that every woman he ever met would follow in her footsteps of hate and disappointment.

His eyes roamed over the girl lying in his bed. She had never had a choice in their marriage, and least of all with what happened last night. He had tried to make it as easy and painless for her as he could, but he had obviously failed. He cursed himself again for not taking Derek's advice when he was offered. Maybe if he had, last night would've gone differently and he wouldn't be in the mess he was today.

Marcus lurched to his feet. He couldn't look at her anymore. He couldn't think about her, either, but that wasn't exactly something he could stop. He came face to face with yet another reminder of their failed wedding night when he stood. The candles.

God, he was stupid. Why had he done that in the first place? It was ridiculous, not to mention dangerous. He was lucky he'd had the strength and awareness last night to blow them out. If he hadn't, he was sure something just like his dream would've transpired not long after he fell asleep, and then where would the both of them be? Dead. (He tried not to think on the fact that she might prefer that to her current situation.)

But he ignored the candles for now. He didn't feel like picking them up. He didn't want to touch them. And he wanted to be out of this room—his favorite room out of over three hundred in the house—as quickly as possible. He swore softly as he started pulling on clothes. Why had he brought her here? There were almost a hundred bedrooms in the house, why did he bring her to his favorite one?

Marcus sighed as he pulled on the last of his clothes. Last night had just been one bad decision after another. As he walked out of the room, he wondered what she would say if he proposed they slept in different beds from now on. She would have to feign being offended at first, of course, but… She would prefer that, he knew. And it was better for them to be separated by whole rooms when his body took him over again like it had that first night, than to run the risk of being in the same bed. Even if they were full clothed… Well, he'd done away with clothes before and he could do it again.

But he wouldn't. He couldn't. She would never forgive him if he repeated last night's behavior again, and especially not if a reoccurrence came so quickly.

He ducked his head in disappointment when he realized what the rest of his life would be like as he strode from the bedroom. A strained, almost non-existent relationship with a woman who clearly wanted nothing to do with him. He might as well have married his mother.

"Lord Sloan?"

His head snapped up at the voice. He hadn't noticed anyone was around—a stupid thought, seeing as the servants were always around—and here two women stood a few feet away, waiting expectantly. His eyes roamed over them, but they didn't look at all familiar and he couldn't place their faces with names. That wasn't surprising—he knew one name for every ten of his household staff, but… They should at least look _vaguely _familiar, shouldn't they?

"Yes?"

The older woman spoke first, leaving the younger to focus on standing properly still and completely silent. If it were any other day, Marcus would've smirked at the way the young girl's eyes tried to subtly roam over him. It was horribly obvious. "We're your wife's handmaidens," she informed him. _Ah, of course._ He remembered sending them away, along with the rest, yesterday. They'd been the ones to protest. Well, the older one had protested, at least. The other had stood by shyly. "Is she awake? We can have her ready and dressed for breakfast—"

"Don't wake her up," he interrupted. He swallowed. He knew the second he walked away, they'd go and wake her, dress her, present her to him like proud parents. And he had to be gone by then. "Wait 'til she wakes on her own. Let her rest."

"Yes, my lord."

"And tell her she may take breakfast as she likes it. Inform the cooks from me that she can have whatever she wants."

The maid frowned. "Will you not be there, my lord?"

He stared at the woman for a long moment. She was older than the young one, she should know better than to question him. He relented from his planned reprimand a moment later, though. She only seemed to genuinely want to know. "No," he answered.

"And what should I tell Lady Sloan you are doin—"

He shook his head. "Don't call her that." His voice came out much sharper than he'd ever intended, but perhaps that was because hearing his name after hers bothered him so much more this morning than it would have yesterday. He knew she would loathe to be tied to him in such a way, so permanently and publicly; a constant reminder whenever anyone addressed her. He closed his eyes. He could only imagine how much she'd hate it when they had a living, breathing child to tie them together instead of just a name and the pretense of a shared bed."Don't ever call her that."

He watched as the maids traded a worried glance. He knew this would get back to the other servants sooner or later. He sighed; that, of course, was inevitable. They were always chattering about him behind his back, thinking he didn't have ears of his own. "What would you like us to—?"

"Just call her by her name," he ordered. "It's Alexandra."

The older maid paused a moment and then asked again, "What should I tell Lady Alexandra you are doing when she asks, my lord? I'm sure your wife will want to see you."

Marcus clenched his teeth together, breathing through his nose. He did not like the impertinence in this woman's tone. And why did she have to say it like that? 'Your _wife?_' Why did she have to use that word? _Because that's what she is. She _is_ my wife. What would be better, if she were referred to as my 'victim,' instead?_

"Tell her I have matters to attend to in the village," he replied, his voice curt. "I'll return home when I have a spare moment."

The maid paused—she was judging him, he knew—before murmuring, "Yes, of course, my lord. I'll tell her."

He left without another word. He knew he was being a little boy. He knew he was being a coward. But he couldn't stay here, couldn't be in the same room as her, the same house… He couldn't look her in the face, not without remembering the blood and the pain and the tears. And not without wanting her, even still.

.

A quiet whispering woke Alexandra that first morning.

"…and so _romantic._ All the candles…" The girl exuded a wistful sigh. "I had no idea he was so romantic!"

Alexandra smiled to herself, somewhere between waking and sleeping. _Laura was here? _She turned in bed, wondering, " Laure?" She cleared her throat, and blinked her eyes open. It was then that she remembered where she was. She sat up straight in bed, and came face to face with two pairs of eyes in the doorway.

Her breath left her immediately, and she automatically brought her arms to cover her bare breasts. She could feel color rising to her cheeks. She'd never been naked in anyone's presence before, but now it'd happened three times in just a few hours. Her eyes flew from face to face. "Y—You are?" She managed to eek out.

The older of the two stepped forward. She had dark brown hair—almost black, like Alexandra's—and it was pulled into a tight bun atop her head. "I am Dorthea, my lady," she called quietly. She glanced over her shoulder to the young girl, the one Alexandra had mistaken for her little sister. She quickly stepped forward as well, obviously in training and still learning the ropes from the other.

"I'm Grace, m'lady." She introduced herself with an awkward curtsy.

Alexandra couldn't help but smile at her. Her blonde hair and freckles were nothing like Laura's, but somehow… because of her young age her bright smile, she looked just like the littlest Grey. The only Grey. _She's the last one left, _Alexandra realized with a pang of sadness. _None of us carry the Grey name anymore. _The thought made her turn her head, and she was surprised when she saw there was no one lying there next to her. She didn't know which she felt first—relief or disappointment.

Dorthea must've noticed the look on her face, though, because the older maid informed her mistress quietly, "Your husband had some business in the village, he said. He didn't know when he'd be back."

Alexandra nodded to herself. So he was gone already. She didn't know why she felt unhappy with that realization. She wasn't even sure she wanted to see him again, and even less sure she wanted to see him, alone, in their bed again. She felt a blush rise to her cheeks as she remembered everything that had happened the night prior. It had been wonderful. It had _truly _been wonderful, more wonderful than she could have ever imagined… But she was not so sure she would have been ready to do it again the moment she woke.

She bit her lip again so she wouldn't blush anymore. She wondered when they'd do it again. Tonight? Or before? Derek and Meredith did it all the time. Would she and her husband do it all time? Until she was pregnant, at least? His mother's words still swam in her head—she couldn't forget them—about how she would visit in a year and expect a baby boy waiting for her when she arrived. Alexandra suddenly felt her breathing grow shallow. What if she had a girl? What if there was a girl growing inside her right now? What in the world was she supposed to do with that?

No, that would be impossible. She wouldn't have a girl. She couldn't have a girl. She would _not_ keep her husband or his mother waiting any longer for their heir, _she would not have a girl_. It was not possible. It would not happen. She wouldn't let it.

"Would you like a shift, my lady?"

The servant's voice broke her out of her thoughts. She quickly nodded, clearing her throat. "Please," she whispered quietly. She waited until the thin garment was brought to her before she stepped out of bed. She did not want to be naked in front of these strangers any longer than she had to be.

"The privy…" She trailed off once the fabric was in place, looking around. There were too many doors leading in and out of this room; she didn't know which to pick. Dorthea indicated to the one just a few feet to Alexandra's right.

"Through there, my lady."

"Thank you."

Alexandra breathed a sigh of relief when she closed the door behind her. She shut her eyes and slowly sank to the cold, tiled floor. She sat there, crouched, for a few seconds before finally standing up again and crossing the room. She winced slightly as she made water; her woman parts burned just faintly as the urine passed by them. She did not look down for fear of seeing red. She wondered how long it would be like this, and if it would get better or worse over time. Her eyes settled on the door separating her from the bed she'd shared with her husband. She wondered again if they would do it a second time tonight.

Of course they would. Why wouldn't they?

She bit her lip, standing. Would he be just as gentle a second time? Or was one night enough? He had a right to take her as he pleased, she knew that, but she had a hard time imagining… Would he really do that, really take her as he wanted, with no concern, after what had happened between them last night?

Alexandra hoped she wasn't a child for deciding no. He wouldn't be like that, she reasoned. Not with me.

_But how do I know?_ The thought made her shiver. _I've only known him for a day, after all. It was a wonderful night, yes, but it was still… just a night._

.

When she returned to her bedchamber, the two women were collecting the multitude of candles into two piles. She smiled at the almost reverent way the girl Grace handled them—as if they were fragile, or her most prized possessions. She remembered the whispering girl she'd heard just before she'd awoke.

"Do you like the candles?" She asked, speaking pointedly to the younger girl.

Grace swallowed, looking to her superior for instruction before nodding quickly. "Yes, my lady. I do. They're—beautiful."

Alexandra smiled. "I thought so too." She paused, and nodded to the bundle in the girl's arms. "You may take one, if you like."

"_Oh!_" The girl's excitement made Alexandra so happy for a second—until it made her want to cry. This girl was exactly like Laura. All little girls were the same. Their heads were filled with songs and stories; tales of romance and chivalry and everlasting love. Lies.

"My lady," Dorthea interrupted from the side. "The girl has no need for candles."

"Of course she does," Alexandra insisted. She pointed to a thick purple candle a few feet from Grace's right foot. Hardened wax had dribbled down the side sometime during the night. "Would you bring me that one, dear?" Grace did as she was bid, and Alexandra thanked her when she put the candle in her hands. "Which one would you like?" She wondered, running her fingers over the soft wax of her own candle. "You can take whichever one you want. I'm sure my lord husband won't miss any." In a second, the girl was clutching a tall blue one in her hands. She held it tightly, as if nervous someone would snatch it away. Alexandra smiled at her. "Well, there you are."

"You're too kind, my lady," she murmured, quiet and soft. "Thank you so very much."

Alexandra couldn't help but smile. She was a timid, shy girl too, once. Like Laura, like Grace. She closed her eyes for a long moment, remembering the night prior. _And at times, I still am. Though I am a girl no longer. _Her eyes drifted to the bed automatically when she opened them, as if drawn by some unseen force. Staring at the red spots on the sheets, she wondered if her husband's child was planted inside her, growing already. _If so, then I will be even more of a woman grown by the time the year is out._ All she could hope for was that it was a boy.

"Would you like to view your boudoir, my lady?" Dorthea wondered a moment later. She began walking across the room before Alexandra could even reply; she'd clearly had enough of this candle business.

"Of course," Alexandra answered even though it was unnecessary, and let the women lead her to a side door in her bedchamber that she hadn't noticed the night before. Opening the door, Alexandra was immediately struck by the space inside… And how much was taken up. The room stretched back near twenty feet, and dresses hung from tall rods that stretched from the front wall to the back. The room was almost overflowing with color and fabric.

"We put your dresses from home to the right," Grace told her softly. Alexandra slowly managed to turn her head from all the splendor in front of her. What she had considered a rather large wardrobe when she was at her childhood home turned out to fill up no more than six feet of one wall in her new home. She had never in her life imagined that one person could wear or own so many clothes… And now she did.

"He… did all this?" She wondered in awe. "Bought all this? For… me?" Alexandra could not fathom how much all of this had cost. The clothes ranged from common threads to the most expensive silks and velvets. Some of the flashier pieces looked to be studded with emeralds, diamonds, and amethysts, as well as many other precious stones. The colors ranged from the deepest blacks to the most startlingly bright pieces she'd ever seen. _I did not know which color you liked. Your father said you had no preference, _she remembered him saying the night prior. _So I brought all I could find, and bought some too. _If he had said those words now, 'some' would be an understatement. She guessed that there were at least a hundred gowns here, and space for even more. When would she ever have time to wear them all? Would she come here to change multiple times a day?

"He wanted you to be comfortable here, my lady."

"I…" Alexandra sucked in a breath. "I shall have to thank him when I next see him." She took a long moment to stare at her beautiful collection before turning to face her personal maids. "He didn't say when he'd be back?"

Dorthea shook her head. "No, he did not." She paused. "Would you like to pick one?" She wondered. "To wear today?"

Alexandra let a smile spread over her face as she turned back to the dresses. There were so many…

.

In the end, she chose a pale lilac one. Grace commented that it matched her candle, and Alexandra smiled. Purple was her favorite color, though she never saw much of it. Maybe that was why she liked it so much; it was rare. As they dressed her, Alexandra recalled the last time she'd been dressed—just a day ago, and for her wedding. She looked down at the flowing, expensive fabric wrapped around her body. She could tell just by looking at it, feeling its softness, that it was more expensive than anything she'd ever owned—even more expensive than the white dress she'd been married in. She wondered if she would look as beautiful in this as she had on her wedding day. She could still remember the moment he'd said that, the moment she knew things would be alright. _You look very beautiful, my lady._ She suddenly wondered if she'd looked beautiful last night. She'd been barely clothed and then completely naked for most of it… Did that make her more attractive or less to him?

She had aroused him, she knew that—and she took very private but very deep pride in the fact—but that didn't mean he thought she was beautiful. She knew some men didn't care what a woman looked like—as long as they had lips and breasts and a place to put it, they didn't need anything else. But she had known from almost the beginning that he was a different sort of man. What had happened last night only proved it to her, made it a certainty instead of just a girlish notion.

He was different.

She hoped she was different, too. Different from all the rest.

.

It was later, as she was walking through the halls after breakfast, that she finally remembered her dream from the night before. She had always been one with an active imagination—brought about by her father's fanciful tales of all the strange ports and lands he'd visited while trading, no doubt—so it hadn't surprised Alexandra when she'd dreamed her first night in her new home, even as tired as she'd been when she had closed her eyes.

She recalled it with a smile now, running her fingertips across the gilded railing on the upper floor as she looked down over the open living space on the ground floor below. There were a few maids darting about, dusting and primping pillows and making nice the smallest corners of the room. She leaned against the railing, watching them, and remembered…

George had just returned from the war in her dream, arriving in his mail and armor, and true to his written word, he'd come to their door for his wife, fresh from the battlefield. They were married in what felt like the blink of an eye. Alexandra remembered smiling the entire time, and whenever she looked to him, George was smiling too. She closed her eyes when he stepped closer for that first kiss. Their noses bumped against one another awkwardly, but his lips were soft, warm… And then confident. Their faces did not clash again, but his hand moved to the back of her neck to draw her close. She sucked in a breath reflexively and leaned into him, almost stumbling in her haste to get closer. She had never expected that he would be such a good kisser. But when she opened her eyes, it was not George staring back at her. It was her husband, her _real_ husband…

And when she looked into his bright blue eyes she could do nothing but smile.

She could've sworn her heart melted in her chest when he smiled back.

.

_Author's Note: Reviews are always greatly appreciated. :) I hope you all liked reading about the morning after :)_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12:**

_Author's Note: Thank you all for your reviews :)_

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The rest of her day was spent in exploration.

Alexandra visited from room to room as she walked the halls. At first, she was politely curious. She would slow her walk as she was passing by, have a quick glance in, and then keep moving. But as the day progressed, she found herself stopping into the ones she liked, and looking around in all their nooks and crannies. She was becoming more and more fascinated with this place with every minute that passed. It was so unlike anything she'd ever seen before.

Every room was unique. Every room held little secrets and details, things that made it different from all the others. As she walked through the halls, Alexandra tried to estimate just how many rooms there werein the house… But it was impossible. There were over three floors, and what seemed to be a never-ending maze of walls and doors on each one. Maybe, she decided, I'll pass through one day and count them all, each and every one.

But today was her first day, and since she hadn't spent more than a couple hours inside the house, she had already found herself lost multiple times. She knew she wouldn't know the rooms well enough to pick them apart and keep track for a long time to come. Thankfully, though, servants seemed to appear and disappear at will within the property, and there was always one nearby to direct her wherever she wanted to go.

Though she did long to go outside and visit what looked like endless grounds, she held back and stayed indoors for the day. She knew she was _allowed _to go outside, of course—it was her home, too, after all, she was allowed to go whatever she wanted—but she still felt like it wouldn't be right. She still felt like a guest here, felt like she was wearing borrowed clothes. She wondered how long it would take for that feeling to wear off, or if it even ever would.

The castle was immense. She always felt like laughing when she thought of it as "home." Not only because it was still so strange and unknown to her, but also because it was not a _home._ A home was cozy and warm, a home was cluttered and familiar. This place was anything but. It was immense and open, and so unfamiliar Alexandra couldn't keep one room from blending with another. Everything looked the same; everything looked different. And everything was _perfect_—perfectly placed and perfectly clean. The smallest speck of dust could not be seen and even the dirty dishes had their proper place.

It was then—that she saw the dirty dishes in their neat stack in the sink—that she realized she'd inadvertently wandered into the servant's quarters. All she'd done was walk through a side door and down a set of old stairs, but it was becoming clearer and clearer with every step that she took that didn't belong here. She backed out of the kitchen as soon as she'd realized her mistake, wanting to be out of there before someone found her. She was a wife, and the kitchen was the wife's domain, but not for her. Not for a woman of her elevated stature. Her domain was…

She frowned, and her forehead puckered in puzzlement. What _was _her domain? What was she supposed to do with her life now? Every day for the last few years had been about preparing herself for marriage. But now she _was _married… And all the rules that applied to her future when it had been tied to George's no longer applied. She'd married someone else. Someone rich, someone with a title, someone so far above her she still didn't even understand why they were ever married in the first place…

She gasped when something bumped into her back. Whatever it was let out a grunt, and when she turned around, her eyes went wide. She had bumped into a person. She'd ran right into a person.

"I…" Alexandra didn't know what to say. She stared at the woman in front of her and felt a lump rise in her throat. She felt like a child being caught eating sweets just moments before supper. She promised herself in that moment she'd never go anywhere except where she was allowed and expected to be. And while she wasn't _not_ allowed down here, she certainly wasn't _expected_, either. The woman recognized her at once, and almost dropped the wooden carton full of sacks of flour that she'd been holding in her hands when she'd backed her way through the doorway.

"M—My lady," she stammered, "excuse me, pardon me, I am so sorry—"

"No, I…" Alexandra's hands hung limply between them. She wanted to help the woman with her heavy package, but she was hugging it to her chest so tightly. Alexandra wasn't sure she'd be much help, anyway. The woman's arms were the size of hams; in comparison, Alexandra's were twigs. "I, I bumped into you, I…" Alexandra licked her lips. "I'm sorry, but I… I don't know your name, ma'am, I…"

The woman's face grew round with awe for a moment before she laughed quietly to herself. "Ma'am," she murmured under her breath, almost chortling as she walked around Alexandra to set her burden on the large wooden table in the center of the room. "Ma'am…"

Alexandra struggled to swallow the lump in her throat. Had she addressed this woman incorrectly? Was she offended? She took a deep breath. "Have I… Have I upset you?" She wondered, careful not to call her 'ma'am' again. "I'm sorry if I—"

"You don't need to say sorry one more time, m'lady." The woman let her arms fall from the package, wiped them on her apron, and smiled happily at Alexandra. She dipped her body low in deference. "I'm the cook here," she introduced herself. "Wenda's what the other servants call me, m'lady. I'm so very pleased to have met you."

Alexandra licked her lips. Her eyes traveled over the woman's round face and large, buxom frame, trying to memorize her. _Wenda, _she told herself. _The cook. She's the cook. Wenda._ A thought hit her. She probably shouldn't address this woman by her first name. It wouldn't exactly be proper, considering the difference in their ranks. Alexandra thought for a moment—no doubt the woman had some sort of title. "What…" She tried to think of someone equal to her status in the household, to ask what they might call her. The closest she could come to was her husband, though their ranks were nowhere near equal. "What does my lord husband call you?"

"Lord Sloan?" The cook smiled to herself, hefting one of the many sacks of flour out of the crate and onto the table. "He doesn't call me nothing." Alexandra watched in confusion as the woman's eyes opened wide a second later, as if she'd just realized what she's said. "Oh, dam—" She broke off, a hand flying to her mouth. "Please," she implored Alexandra, "please excuse me. I am _so _sorry, m'lady, I just don't know what my mouth's doing this morning, running off like that…"

Alexandra stared at her, still confused on the former score to worry about anything else. "He doesn't… call you anything?" She wondered, perplexed. That didn't make any sense. He had to call this woman _something_. "When he addresses you, what does he—"

"He doesn't address me much, m'lady," Wenda interrupted. She thought for a moment. "But if you really need something to call me by, I suppose you can just call me Cook."

Alexandra stared at her for a moment before wondering, "Why doesn't he have a proper name for you?"

"He doesn't speak to us servants much, m'lady."

Alexandra frowned at that. What did that mean? At home, she spoke to her servants daily. She knew each and every one of their names. She knew their families, too, their ancestry. She knew practically everything about every girl or boy, man or woman, that worked in her home. How was it that her husband knew nothing of his servants?

_Maybe it's just because he has a larger staff._

But the cook? Part of her wondered. How does he not even know the cook's name? How has he never addressed her, when she makes every single one of his meals?

"Why doesn't he speak to the servants often?" Alexandra asked, knowing she was probably pressing this poor woman too far, but she suddenly needed to know. "Doesn't he have things he needs done? He can't possibly do them all himself without addressing one of you."

"Oh, he orders us around just fine," Wenda replied easily. "But he doesn't exactly stop us in the halls to have a chat or two."

"He doesn't speak to me much, either," Alexandra found herself admitting. Her eyes widened a moment later, and she soon understood the cook's humiliation before about letting her mouth run. "I—I mean…" She trailed off, too embarrassed and unsure of what to say to right things. She couldn't believe she'd just divulged that sort of personal information to the _cook, _of all people. She might as well have given her a moment-by-moment account of what had transpired between them in their bedchamber last night. Alexandra felt her cheeks heating up already. "I… I should go," she managed, backing her way towards the door again. She prayed no one would walk through this time and delay her. "It, um, it was lovely to meet you, Wenda the cook, I…"

The woman smiled kindly at her. "It was wonderful to meet you as well, m'lady. I'm so pleased you'll be staying here with us now."

"As am I." Alexandra paused, her hand on the doorway. She couldn't leave things like this; couldn't bolt away from trouble like a scared horse. She was a woman, a lady, the head of her own household. She should be able to fix her own mistakes, especially in front of servants. She couldn't leave it like this. "Ab—About what I said, I didn't mean—"

"I know exactly what you meant, m'lady." The kindly woman's firm words struck fear into Alexandra's heart for a moment. But it all evaporated a second later, when she leaned forward and whispered quietly, "It's only been one night, Lady Sloan. And that first night is never one for spoken conversation, now, is it?"

Alexandra stood still for a moment, shocked. She hardly had time to digest the fact that she really _was _discussing her wedding night with the cook. She surprised herself even further a moment later by smiling and whispering back, "No. It… It wasn't." She could feel her chest swell with each breath she took. She didn't know how, but it seemed things were looking up. She glanced to the cook's hand; she was married. That meant she knew exactly what had happened last night—the basics, at least. She'd wanted to ask her maids' opinions—Dorthea's, at least—about what had occurred last night, but something always made her hold back. Without her sister here, she was pleased she'd at least found someone to confide in… that it just so happened to be her cook, well, she tried not to laugh or care or focus at all on that fact.

And then there was the way Wenda had addressed her. Her handmaidens had taken to addressing her by her first name since the moment they'd arrived early in the morning, but there was something about being addressed with her husband's title in her own home by her own cook that made her smile, bright and big. It made everything real. Lady Sloan. _Lady Sloan. _Gods, she was a lady, wasn't she? A real one, a proper one. She had a title, a home, land, servants, maids, cooks… She wasn't a girl anymore, not a maiden, no. She was a woman grown, married, possibly even pregnant. She felt her smile widen and she tried not to let her hand gravitate towards her stomach. Nonetheless, she couldn't help wondering if there was a child there, a child growing inside her, _his _child. The thought would have scared her just hours ago, but suddenly… She wanted it. She wanted to earn her place here properly. She wanted to see her moon's blood cease to come, wanted to watch her stomach grow round with his child, wanted to labor and toil through all the pain and suffering of childbirth and come out on the other side with a baby boy tucked in her arms, feeding at her breast. She wanted to see the look on her husband's face when he saw their child for the first time. She wanted to watch his eyes gravitate towards hers; wanted to see the love in their blue depths. She bit her lip. She wondered if their son would have his enchanting eyes. She hoped so.

"Is he out on the grounds today?"

Alexandra's head jerked towards the voice; she'd been so lost in her thoughts for the future that she had nearly forgotten she'd been speaking to someone. "No," she replied. "He… My maids said he had some business in the village this morning."

"Village?" The cook repeated, frowning.

Alexandra stared at her, worried. "Is that… bad? Is that bad that he has duties in the village? Has something happened—"

Wenda shook her head. "Not at all, m'lady, not that I've heard of, at least." She paused, and seemed to think for a moment. "It's just unusual, is all. He doesn't leave this place much. Hasn't in years."

"It was probably important."

The cook nodded along, but didn't reply. Alexandra smiled at her for a moment before remembering this wasn't her place, and that she should probably leave the cook to her own business.

"Thank you," she called, just as she was walking out the door. "For—For speaking with me, thank you. That was… very generous of you."

The cook smiled. "And thank you, m'lady. It's been a long time since I've exchanged such lovely words with a woman of your station, Lady Sloan."

"And… that too," she felt the need to admit, blushing as she did so. "Thank you for… for calling me that. No one else has." She bit her lip. "My… My maids, at least, they just call me by my name. They don't use my title." She held herself back from admitting that she liked the sound of it, liked the title, liked being referred to in that way. It let everyone know who she was, whom she was married to. It made her important.

The cook grinned, displaying her crooked teeth. "Well, Lady Sloan, you can always come to me for propriety. You know how us cooks are, always at the height of respectability."

Alexandra tried not to, but she couldn't help the smallest giggle from escaping. "Thank you," she said again, just before disappearing up the stairs.

.

Bored.

That's what Marcus was, he was bored. Bored to tears, bored to death, so bored he could hardly stay awake. He hadn't been bored in _years_, and he was now remembering exactly why he hadn't attended one of these meetings in over a decade. There was truly nothing duller than discussing the peasant's silly concerns and doling out justice for two pieces of pilfered silver like it was five hundred times that amount in gold. He frowned, suddenly curious. Today seemed _especially _dull… Was that because it really _was _that boring, or because he knew that there was something so very interesting waiting for him at home?

_Don't think of her._

It was a stupid directive. He hadn't stopped thinking about her all day. He hadn't stopped thinking about her in months, actually, since he'd first seen her. It was such a sweet torture, for his mind to be filled of her. He loved and hated it simultaneously; he never wanted it to go away. He never wanted her to go away.

But it would be so much easier if she had.

Things would be so much easier if she'd never come into his life… But already, he couldn't picture it without her. He couldn't remember what he'd been doing before her. Certainly not this.

"…and when I went out to count them in the morning, like I do, five were missing. _Five, _m'lord, _five._ Five sheep. Who steals five sheep?"

Marcus heaved a breath and let it go. He propped his chin up with his palm to support himself so he wouldn't fall asleep. "A wolf, perhaps?"  
"There haven't been any wolves spotted in months, m'lord."

"A sneaky wolf, then."

"No," the man replied, "it was him!" He pointed to the man standing mere feet from him, looking just as defiant as his accuser.

"I didn't do it! I have no use for sheep, I have _cattle_, and everyone knows cattle are far more…" The man's voice faded into the distance.

Marcus frowned. He shouldn't be here. He should be at home. He should be showing his wife her new house, or taking her around the gardens and the lawns, maybe even out to the edge of the woods if she was up to it. He should be eating with her, talking with her, getting to know this woman he'd now be spending the rest of his life with.

But instead he was here.

Instead he was sorting out petty disputes between the smallfolk, yawning all the while. Some stolen sheep here, a few stolen pennies there… Rarely was it real crimes, and even more rarely were the disputes complicated. Marcus knew just by looking at the accused man that he'd done it. Cattle were more valuable at first glance, it was true, but if you could raise a good sheep, it could give you endless revenue in the way a bull wouldn't. You can skin or butcher a cow once; sheep you can take from all their life—shear their wool, sell it, make your own clothes—and keep coming back for more. And at the end, you even still get the meat. Sheep are a better bargain than cows, and part of him didn't even blame the second man for stealing them. He did wonder how the idiot thought he'd get away with it. The two men lived less than three miles away from each other.

Marcus closed his eyes. Immediately, he saw her face swimming behind his eyelids, saw her naked body beneath his. He bit his tongue hard to snap himself out of it, but it was no use. He couldn't remember exactly when it was that his mind had stopped assaulting him with her blood and tears, but now all he could remember was her smiles and the way she moaned. He forced himself not to think of her that way. He forced himself not to think of her at all, but seeing as that was a lost cause, he figured it better that when his mind dwelt on her it dwelt on the _truth, _not what he _wished_ had happened last night.

He had hurt her. He needed to remember that.

He couldn't let himself fill his mind with images her smile or her blush or the way she'd whimpered for him to come back when his body had left hers. He couldn't think of any of that because they were all lies. He had hurt her, forced her, made her bleed; that was the truth of it, the only truth.

So why couldn't he stop imagining her writhing in pleasure beneath him?

He forced his eyes open, forced himself to settle the little dispute at hand. Maybe if he focused on these mundane peasants for a few more hours, he would forget about her. Maybe by the time he returned home, she'd already be asleep and he wouldn't be tempted to take her again as he had last night.

_Yes, and maybe a wolf really did eat this man's sheep, and the other is just a wrongly accused simpleton._

Marcus sighed again. It was time to settle this stupid dispute. So five sheep had gone missing, was that truly so horrible? He interrupted one of the men's claims, promising the sheep-thief's victim that he himself would buy the man five more sheep to take the place of those that were stolen. He turned to the accused and demanded, without batting an eye or pausing for the man's explanation, that he return the sheep he stole, to square his own debt with his victim. The man held his gaze for a minute before bowing and saying he would. Quick as they had stormed in almost an hour ago, the two men shuffled out.

Next came a baker and some village boy; she dragged the lad by the ear and shouted that he'd stolen from her shop's savings when she wasn't looking. Marcus found himself wanting to tear his hair out. Didn't these people realize that they could sort of their menial problems on their own? They didn't have to come crying to him.

He shut his eyes. If last night hadn't gone as poorly as it did, he wouldn't be here right now. He'd simply have sent a representative—like he always did—and he'd never have to deal with these lowly, stupid, dull peasants again. But of course last night hadn't gone well, as foolishly as he liked to pretend otherwise, and he took the first escape that was offered him. His job always needed done in the village, and it had been over a decade since he'd graced them all with his presence.

He stared into the distance as the woman's shouts and the boy's weak protests drifted over him. His advisors were paying rapt attention; he didn't need to focus anymore. He gripped the arms of the chair beneath him. He didn't know what he wished for more: to be stuck here with the peasants 'til the end of his days, or to be home alone with his wife.

He finally came to the conclusion that he dreaded them both equally. He stared down at the irate woman before him, and decided he should stay and hear her out. At least he didn't run the risk of meeting her in his bedroom and raping her, which was more than he could say for his new bride.

.

Alexandra spent the rest of the day in idle wandering. Since her talk with Wenda the cook, she couldn't stop thinking about her husband. As the hours ticked by, she wondered if each coming one would be the herald of his return. But after each hour came and passed, she was still alone in the house. Or as alone as she could be, with servants materializing every time she looked over her shoulder or walked into a room.

She resolved when she saw him next to ask just how many servants there were. Certainly he didn't need this many; didn't need to pay this many. They could do with a few dozen, not what seemed to be a hundred at the moment. Since her run-in with the cook, Alexandra hadn't spoken to any of them, save for her maids. The two handmaidens were wonderful, in their respective ways. More and more, Alexandra found herself treating Grace as if she really were Laura. At times, she had to take a moment, and remind herself that her little sister was at home, and nowhere near. But it was nice, nonetheless, to have the smallest reminder of her old home in her new one.

Dorthea was something of a blessing, in her own way. While Grace was still learning and had few answers to Alexandra's questions, Dorthea seemed to have them all. When Alexandra inquired after something, Dorthea would be able to give her a quick and crisp answer, and would never mince words. Be it the type of linens used in the bedroom, the amount of acreage of the property, or how many casks were in the wine cellar, she had a concise answer for each.

But just because these two women—well, one woman and one girl, as Alexandra still saw it—were polite and helpful to her, she still did not feel like they were enough. They were lacking, and it wasn't even their fault, nor a true aspect of their job. She wanted her sisters, not maids; that was her problem. It didn't help that the ages and demeanors of both her maids were so similar to her sisters—Grace, so young and hopeful like Laura; Dorthea, older and wiser like Meredith.

Alexandra stared at the empty table in front of her. She wished her sisters were here now. Especially with her husband still gone at this moment, she wished the other girls were here, so she could have someone to talk to and confide in about him. She wondered what Meredith would say. Her older sister had told her to write the moment she ran into problems, but… She hadn't run into any problems, not really. The thought made her smile as she stared down at the soup sitting beneath her. She propped an elbow on the table improperly as she spooned it, thinking.

She had been scared last night, but that fear had disappeared quickly, as soon as she'd saw the candles and felt him kiss her. And she'd been apprehensive this morning, but as she walked around her new home, she'd gradually come to terms with the fact that she belonged here. She didn't exactly _feel _that way, but she knew she had to appear such, so she did. The feeling would only come with time, she was certain, and she was willing to wait. She had an inkling that her patience would be wroth it in the end.

Alexandra was just bringing another spoonful of the warm soup to her mouth when her husband himself entered the room. She'd been so lost in thought, she must not have even heard the front doors open, or heard his approach. But here he was, standing in the room, staring at her… And she was eating without him.

She scrambled to her feet immediately, letting the spoon clatter down into the dish. "My lord, I—"

He waved a hand. "Sit down, you don't need to stand for me."

Alexandra hesitated a moment, surprised and unsure, before doing as she was bid. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he took a seat directly across from her and signaled for one of the waiting servants to bring him silverware and a meal. She wondered idyll why he wasn't sitting to her right, at head of the table, as was his right and place. She shook the thought, pleased at least that he was here. She didn't care where he sat, not really, as long as he was here.

She waited for him to start the conversation, but he didn't speak word. He waited for his soup in silence, ate it in silence, and seemed to stare at a fixed point over her shoulder after it was cleared away. Even after they were brought the main course—chicken and a side of cooked vegetables—the silence endured. Alexandra then realized that if he wasn't going to be the first to speak, it was her job to bridge the gap between them. That was a wife's job, wasn't it? She eyed him for a moment before wondering softly, "How was the village today, my lord? You were gone a while."

His head jerked up from his plate when she spoke, and he stared at her intensely—as if trying to puzzle out if this simple question were indeed a rude trick—before answering quietly, "It was the same as it's always been. Stolen sheep and family rivalries." He sighed. "Dull."

"Were the sheep returned to their owner?"

"They will be. But I bought him a few extra just in case."

"You…" Alexandra stared at him, confused. "You bought him _more_, after the others were already going to be returned? Why?"

"This way everyone's happy. His damages are fixed to rights, and he has insurance so he won't complain again."

"But you used your own money."

He smirked, almost laughed. "Well, I have more than enough that I can waste a bit on the peasants, can't I?" Marcus watched her as she stared at him. He was about to ask if he'd said the wrong thing—or otherwise offended her, somehow—when she smiled at him.

"That was very kind of you."

He did laugh then, and smirked again. "What can I say, my lady? I'm a kind person." He'd meant it as a joke, it _was _a joke, and so he almost choked on the bite of food he was eating when she agreed with his mocking statement, completely serious.

"I know you are," she replied quietly, a small smile turning up the edges of her lips.

He stared at her without blinking for so long that his eyes almost watered. His mind went over her words again and again, and his eyes studied her facial features… But it was clear that she hadn't been joking, that she'd been… entirely honest in her response. He squinted at her. Was she insane? _Him, _kind? How could she, of all people, think that?

.

The rest of the meal was finished in near silence. Though Alexandra tried to strike up conversation between them multiple times, he rarely replied, nor carried on her opening remarks. After a time, she reluctantly stopped trying, and only spoke when they'd finished their meal. She hoped today was just a hard day, and that on others he would be more welcoming and talkative.

"I will…prepare for bed," she informed him, standing.

She felt her heart drum in her chest when he looked away after she said that. Why did he look away? What did that mean? She tried not to let her worry get the better of her as she took the long walk back to their bedroom, but it was impossible. He'd been gone all day, and then when he'd returned, he had barely spoken to her. What did _that_ mean? Didn't he want to get to know her like she wanted to get to know him? Maybe he didn't want to know every last detail, but surely he still thought it was important that they kept up some sort of dialogue, right?

Lost in thought, Alexandra arrived at their bedroom door much quicker than expected. She realized she didn't know what to do, but thankfully her maids were there, and they helped her undress without a word. They disappeared after they were finished, and left her in that silent room alone. Alexandra stood by the side of the bed, just in her undergarments, and closed her eyes for a moment. That sea of candles swam behind her eyelids, twinkling and ever so romantic, and when she heard the door open, she smiled.

And there he was, walking in again exactly like he had last night, just wearing more clothes. His steps faltered to a stop when he saw her standing there, and she couldn't help but smile again. She felt something like pride swell up in her when she watched his eyes look her up and down. She found herself wondering if his manhood was growing inside his breeches as it had beneath his smallclothes last night, when his eyes had left trails of fire on her nubile skin.

He was the first to break the silence. …Though, if Alexandra had had a choice, she would've rather neither of them had spoken than to hear what he had to say.

"I'm… tired today," he told her, seeming to struggle to say the words and look her in the eye simultaneously.

It took her a full minute to realize what he was implying. She shifted from one foot to the other, not sure if she was even interpreting it right. _He doesn't mean that, does he? _"Then you… you don't want…?" She couldn't even get the words out. She tried to ignore how quickly her heart was beating. He didn't want to go to bed with her? What did that mean? It couldn't be good, she knew. That only left it being bad, and bad it was. _What've I done?_ "You would just…" She paused, staring at him, confused and worried. "You would just like to… to sleep then, my lord?" _But why?_

He gazed at her for a long moment before closing his eyes and nodding his head. "I would." He still hadn't moved from his place beside the door.

"Oh." She took a breath before slowly taking those few steps to he side of the bed and climbing under the covers. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he undressed—he kept his back to her, but she could still see the way his muscles rippled—especially those of his back and upper arms—whenever he moved and bared more skin. She shifted in bed, trying to keep herself calm and squash the want that was rising within her with every article of clothing he let drop to the floor. _We won't be doing anything tonight, _she told herself, _so there's no reason to get worked up about it._

But she couldn't help it. She looked at him and she wanted him, as she had never wanted anyone else before. She desperately wished he wasn't so tired, and then felt embarrassed for having such thoughts. _But he's my husband, _she thought in her defense. _Shouldn't I be having such thoughts about him?_

She sucked in a quiet breath as he joined her in bed. The room was so dark, she hoped he wasn't able to see the way her cheeks pinked when she glanced over at him. She hoped it wasn't too obvious. She watched him settle into bed, wondering what she was supposed to do. He said he didn't want… _that_, but were they really supposed to sleep apart like this, on two completely separate sides of the bed?

She wondered if she was supposed to crawl into his arms. That's what married couples did, didn't they? They held each other when they slept; that was customary, wasn't it? Before she could summon the courage for such a move, though, he turned his back to her and settled his head on the pillow facing away from her. She stared at his backside, trying not to care, but she just felt as if she'd been shut out of something very important, shut out of his mind and life. She felt as if they were in two different beds, two different worlds, and she hated that feeling. She hated feelings so apart from the one person she was supposed to be nothing but close to.

She wondered what Meredith would've done if Derek had acted like this—ignoring the fact that Derek would never act like this with Meredith. Would she disregard her husband's wishes and try to start something between them even though he said he was tired? Would she slide up behind him, press herself against his back, and wrap her arms around him? Alexandra closed her eyes. Those questions were getting her nowhere. Meredith's relationship with Derek was nothing like Alexandra's relationship with her own husband. Meredith and Derek were in love with each other. But she and her husband were…

Alexandra frowned. Well, she had no idea what they were. They were husband and wife, and that was about it. She felt a strange pang of sadness when she realized she still didn't even know his middle name. What wife doesn't know her husband's middle name?

.

He had nearly had a heart attack the moment he'd walked into that bedroom. Why did she think standing near to naked by the bed was a good idea? Didn't she have any instinct of self-preservation at all? Gods, it had required nearly every fiber of his being to hold back from taking her then and there—on the floor, on the bed, against the wall, it wouldn't have mattered…

_Don't you touch her_, a voice growled silently into his ear. _Touch her and you'll only hurt her. Don't lay a finger on her; you'll only make this worse than it already is._

And it was bad already. She was here in her undergarments, waiting for him to return. He closed his eyes. He didn't want to think about how hard it had been for her to do that. How could she offer herself like that to him again? After what he'd put her through less than twenty-four hours prior? She seemed to be stronger and more resilient than he'd ever suspected.

Marcus had thought that when he arrived home everything would be done. He thought wouldn't want her anymore—or at least, would want her considerably _less_—and that he would be able to live with her now, be able to be around her without that endless, bottomless want. But that was foolish. Just because they spent one day apart did not mean anything. It meant nothing, in fact.

And if anything had changed, his desire for her had merely spiked in their time apart. He barely got through dinner without throwing the dishes aside and taking her there, right on that table. A little smirk had crept up onto his face when he had thought of that as he ate; it would have been a good show. It would've given the servants something to whisper about behind his back for months.

But that—just like everything else he wanted to do with her—was off-limits. _She _was off-limits. He had to remember that, or else he'd be doomed to hell, taking her with him as he sank.

.

Finally, when it was clear he wasn't going to make a move and neither was she, Alexandra resigned herself to her position and fate, alone on her side of the bed.

"I hope you sleep well," she whispered, not knowing what else to say.

She thought she heard him laugh quietly, as if mocking her words, but a moment later, he replied softly, "And you."

She stared at his back until she her eyes started drooping, and then reluctantly fell into a restless sleep. She tried to stay awake, thinking that each moment more she kept her eyes open was another chance for him to turn around and face her again. Another chance for him to roll over, to smother her small body with his larger one, to cover her mouth with his warm lips, and to finally fill her with his thick…

It never happened.

Not that second night, and not for many afterwards.

Even so, Alexandra fell asleep that second night—and each one that succeeded it—with hope in her heart. She never stopped hoping that this night—_this _one, _finally_—would be the one that he'd drawn her into his arms, kiss her, and remind her what it meant to be a wife.

.

_Author's Note: Wow, as of this chapter, we've passed the 100-page marker on Out of My Hands. I can't quite believe that. O.O Anyway, as always, reviews are ever so welcome. Thank you all so much for reading. I hoped you liked this chapter!_


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13:**

_Author's Note__: I apologize for the wait. Thank you all _so much _for sticking with me. You guys have no idea what and how much that means to me, really. After having said that, I have to apologize for the angst in this chapter. Again, it's necessary—and I wish I could be bringing you a happier chapter—but this is where are in the story. I also feel the need to apologize a bit about the chapter in general. I don't really think it's the best it could be, but I just can't find what I need to change. Hopefully you all will enjoy it even if it's frustrating or just badly written. Again, thank you for sticking with me. :)_

_Rating__: M_

_Disclaimer__: I own Marcus and Alexandra_

.

Three weeks passed like that.

Three weeks passed where they barely saw each other, barely spoke. Not once did he try to take her to bed again like that first night, and after a few days, she stopped preparing so readily for him. She always expected something—always thought that _this _night would be different… but it never was. Every night was the same. Every day was the same.

He was always long gone before she awoke, either to the village or off on day-long hunts or lengthy rides through the vast woods nearby. He never returned until late in the afternoon—if he returned at all—so some days Alexandra took all of her meals alone. She tried not to mind. It wasn't as if he was the best company when he was present—he was just as absent when he was with her than when he was without.

It didn't take more than a few weeks for the fatigue to show on his face. She, too, felt tired, lethargic, and rather useless. Unnecessary. She was an accessory to a man who had no interest in utilizing her in any way or at any time. Still, she lit that purple candle by her bedside every night, the one she'd had Grace hand her that first day, and wished he would take her to bed again like he did that first time. Every hope and prayer fell flat.

After a time, she realized it wasn't her sense of duty and obligation to him that was offering up these wishes, but in fact, some of her other senses. She'd known from that first night—and before that night, of course—that she wanted him. But it was only during those later days, where she barely saw him and never touched him, that she realized just how much and how desperately she _yearned_ for him. For his touch, his lips, his… For every part of him.

She contemplated writing to her sister about it, asking a wiser woman what she should do, but that notion soon proved too embarrassing to entertain for long. What could Alexandra possibly write with words that would accurately explain all of the confusing and unfamiliar emotions she experienced when she saw—or even thought of—the man that was her husband? And how could she word it all, even if she knew how to explain things, in a way that would make her seem more than a lecherous wretch, with her mind equal in subject to that of a common whore's? It only made things worse that he showed no interest in her whatsoever. She briefly contemplated trying to attract him as she (apparently) had that first night, but she again had no idea how to go about that. She barely believed anymore that his interest in her that night had been genuine, for he showed so little of it now.

.

_I can't do this anymore,_ Marcus thought for the thousandth time.

He wondered which thought would finally break him—the thousandth and one? Or the ten thousandth? The millionth?

_None will break me, for I am stronger than that. I am not a base man who gives in to his base instincts._

A moment passed, and he heard a rustling in the sheets next to him. Though he knew he shouldn't, he knew he _couldn't_, he looked over his shoulder anyway. The sight of her smashed his mind like a hard blow to the head would have. Her perfume wafted over—or was it her natural scent?—and it was a torture so sweet it stopped him in his tracks. It was unfair, so unfair, like kicking a man in practice after he was already down and yielded. He blinked, frozen. _She's so beautiful._

He squeezed his eyes shut when he felt himself harden. He hated what she could do to him; gods, she wasn't even awake! He bit the inside of his cheek, hard. _I am not a base man who gives in to his base instincts._

He opened his eyes, and they trailed over her sleeping body almost automatically.

_Yes, _he thought at once, trailing his eyes following the tumbling flow of her dark hair, _yes, I am. If I am anything at all, _that_ is what I am._

He rose and left the room before he could act on his thoughts. He decided to ride alone today, knowing that it would be a mistake to spend time around any living soul, lest he let word slip of what—of _who_—plagued him and caused him to go on such lengthy and tiring excursions. The servants knew something was amiss in his life—he'd never been so studious in his lordly duties before, though now he followed them to the letter to escape the castle—but they didn't know the exact cause. He wondered if they'd puzzled it out yet. They were quick—unfortunately—and he was sure a few had figured it out and whispered it to the others behind their hands as he strode past every morning. He could see his wife's maids exchange glances whenever he walked by them as he left each morning, but he did not speak to them, and therefore gave them no leave to question him.

He, as always, dressed in silence and kept his back to her all the while. He couldn't put clothes on while she was in his sights; every glance at her made him want to tear off everything he wore. As he dressed, he tried to remember which horse he'd used last. He wondered how many were left. Hopefully there was still one fresh one. He knew the stableboys would give him queer looks for running yet another horse into the ground—returning with it heaving, drenched in sweat, and lathering at the mouth—but he knew he had no choice. He couldn't very well run his own body into the ground as he could a horse's, though it was a nice thought to entertain. And he needed to exhaust himself somehow; if he didn't, who knew what he would be capable of physically the next time he went to join her in bed?

He turned just as he was leaving to catch sight of her before he departed, and then regretted that action all day.

Her face swam behind his eyelids every time he blinked for the succeeding hours. He could see her thin body twisted amongst the sheets as she slept, her hair tousled and all out of place, her eyes closed and her visage so peaceful… She haunted him like a ghost. When he wasn't reliving her tears and blood from that first night, he was besieged by her warm eyes and soft skin. He didn't know which torture was worse, her pain or her pleasure.

.

It was later that day that Alexandra realized just how out of hand her feelings towards her husband had become since she first realized she had them. She had spent that morning—as she spent nearly all her mornings (and afternoons, for that matter)—walking around the interior of her home. Though she still didn't feel completely comfortable here—she was still unaccepted by the only person that really mattered, and that alone made her ever a stranger in his home—she did feel, with each passing day, that she belonged more and more. It was her home, too, whether she liked it or not, and it was better to face a fact like that right away instead of dithering about the new role like an indecisive child. She accepted who she was now, and as the lonely weeks passed, she grew to be one with her surroundings in lieu of becoming one with her husband.

That, of course, did not stop her from wishing after her husband's favor, presence, and love. Wishing, hoping, dreaming…

She had been reading in the library when it first happened, when she dozed off and her mind ran with her emotions, ran and took them in directions she never, ever would have consciously thought of. Or so she liked to tell herself.

She was holding a large, thick tome in her hands when she felt her eyes beginning to droop. The sun had been warming her body as she sat in her now-customary armchair, and the sun always made her sleepy. Combining that with the dry and admittedly dull history she had in her hands, it wasn't surprising that her eyes felt heavier and heavier each time she tried to blink herself awake. She was unsure if she welcomed sleep when it came—she'd been just as exhausted as her husband in recent days; his early morning excursions usually woke her up, and she slept fitfully on even the best nights.

She would never speak of it to anyone, but she secretly _did _welcome what her mind conjured up for her to enjoy as she slept. She wondered, almost scared and certainly embarrassed, if part of her had brought the dream about willfully, or if it had been completely unintentional. Either way, she was grateful that the tension was eased… If only it were relieved as easily in real life as it had been in her fanciful dreams.

.

The door flew open with a bang, and she jumped to her feet immediately at the sound, which caused the book in her hands to crash to the floor. She didn't spare a moment of thought for its ancient and fragile binding—something far more important than that old dusty text was standing there, in the doorway. He was drenched in sweat, so much so that the flimsy undershirt he'd worn to out to ride had turned completely see-through. It stuck to every inch of his chest, shoulders, and back. She could see his muscles through the fabric, and the sight of them so defined sent a shiver up and down her body. When she met his sharp blue eyes with hers, other parts of her shivered too.

He didn't pause. He didn't even hesitate. In a blink of an eye, he was striding across the library floor. Before she could utter a word, he'd taken her face in his hands and kissed her deeply. He pressed up against her, so hard and strongly that she stumbled, and nearly fell to the floor. She would have, too, if the bookcases at her back hadn't caught her and held her up. He pressed her up against the shelves, angling his mouth to kiss her more passionately as his hands left her face to wrap around her back and hold her to him. Finally, with them both lost for breath, he pulled back.

"I've been… looking everywhere for you," he told her, near as breathless as she.

"I've been here all along," she replied, panting through her response. She swallowed, resting her hands on his powerful biceps. She ran her fingers over them, feeling their strength, his strength. She felt her nether regions shiver again, felt her legs quake. "You… You came here with a purpose?"

He nodded. "I needed to find you."

"You've found me." She paused, looking into his eyes. "And now?" She wondered softly, a hopeful smile tugging up her lips as her hands boldly moved from his arms to his shoulders to cupping his cheeks. "What are you going to do now that you've found me?"

He stared at her for a long moment, as if weighing his options now that his previous mission was complete. Before he could ask her properly, though, she hefted herself up into his arms, braced herself against the books' spines, brought her body to his, and whispered, "Yes" to his unspoken but obvious question. "_Yes_."

_._

Alexandra awoke with a jolt. She looked at the book in her hands, and shut it quickly. She set it aside and gripped her hands together tight, praying that she hadn't really dreamed what she thought she had… and wishing that her dream had actually been real. Her hands were jittery and clammy when they joined, so much so that she wrenched them apart and gripped the sides of the armchair instead.

When she shifted in her seat to stand, she suddenly became very aware of the wetness that she could feel between her thighs. She looked down, alarmed, as if she could see the evidence through her dress. She squeezed her eyes shut, opened them, and looked immediately to the door. Half of her was relieved he wasn't there. The other half longed for him to come bursting through as he had in that dream, to pull her into his arm's without a second's thought, to take her up against a bookshelf because he couldn't wait for them to find a proper bed.

She bit her lip, looking around, scared of her thoughts and scared of just how much she _wasn't _scared of them, how much she exulted in them. "What is happening to me?" She whispered to the empty room, praying for an answer but knowing there wouldn't be one.

.

She barely slept for days after that. Whenever her eyes started to drift closed in the days following, she would immediately jerk awake, feeling embarrassed and guilty in equal measure for what she'd thought of the last time she fell asleep. It wasn't normal, was it? It couldn't be normal. Women didn't think of things like that, and they _certainly _didn't feel happy or grateful if such thoughts happened to surface.

She tried avoiding the library afterwards, but it was hard. With the absence of her husband and the abundance of household staff, there didn't seem to be much for her to do with her days. Prior to the "incident," she'd filled her days with exploration, familiarization, and learning about her new environment, her home. She'd happened across the library almost by accident—it was on the first floor, just off from the main front doorway, and the only reason she walked inside was because she realized she hadn't noticed the room before.

Alexandra didn't know how she missed it. It was enormous—it took up an entire half of the front of the castle, and held so many bookcases and shelves, so much knowledge, so much to learn. She had never seen that many books before, and she spent the first few hours walking around the room in awe. Soon enough, she felt brave enough to pull books off the shelves, though she looked over her shoulder all the while. At first she set them on one of the desks to read—hoping she wasn't using his private space—but soon enough, she was curling up in what quickly became her favorite armchair, a book tucked up in her hands and her feet curled up on the seat with her.

She spent many, if not all, of her days that followed that first discovery in the library. It would take her many lifetimes to read all the books in all the shelves, but that didn't mean that she couldn't try starting now. And it wasn't all about the books all the time—mostly it was the quiet. The silence. From the first moment she stepped inside, she noticed it. The house usually _was_ rather quiet, but this was a different kind of quiet; something peaceful. Tranquil, like a still pond. She felt suspended in time when she spent her days in the library, but it wasn't a saddened, lonely suspension as it was on most other days.

She knew she couldn't give up this place, and, though she hated to admit it, knew she couldn't give up all the feelings, dreams, hopes, and wants that it aroused in her. It was all she had for now, so she decided she should take the greatest advantage of it that she could.

.

When next she saw him that day, it was in their bedroom. It wasn't until he'd blown out the candles, slipped into bed next to her, and rolled on his side away from her that Alexandra realized she had been holding her breath, realized that her stomach was clenched tight in anticipation and maybe something else. She was no longer waiting for him to make some sort of move, she realized slowly, staring at the darkness around her, she was holding _herself _back from doing so.

Her dream from that afternoon replayed in her mind again and again, and she couldn't resist scooting just a bit closer to him in bed. She was close enough to touch him—she didn't—and close enough to smell him, which she couldn't resist from indulging in.

He smelled of horses and leather and sweat that night, and as she breathed him in—unable to resist—she then dreamed of them coupling in the stables together, amidst the straw and the hay and the dirt. She could hear the horses whinnying to each other in her dream, and she could feel the straw pricking her skin. She could hear him whisper her name, and feel him slide his hard, long length inside her. It was so real, so vivid, that Alexandra half-expected to wake amongst the dust and the smell of horses, with brush burns on her skin and pieces of straw tangled in her hair.

As it was, she woke alone.

Again.

.

_Finally. _Marcus sighed in relief. He'd waited forever for a moment alone, for a moment to himself away from the servants and chauffeurs and cooks and _her._ He closed his eyes, both hating and loving his body's immediate reaction to her. Yes, _her _most of all, he was trying to avoid.

And now—finally, thank the gods—he had.

He almost couldn't believe his luck, it was so perfect. Here he was, alone in their bedroom, with the servants out tending to his wife and sister-in-law and the other ladies she'd invited for a picnic out on the grounds. They would be out there for hours, he was sure, so he knew he had plenty of time to himself…

But he just couldn't wait.

The merest thought of her would cause his cock to come alive, and he'd thought of her much and more during the past hours. And during the past day, week, month. Marcus closed his eyes. God, he thought about her all the time. He opened them, and a smile curved up his face. At least now he had a way to put those thoughts to good use and sate that want at the same time, at least for the time being. He knew it would spring up again, but he would find more time alone. He had to. He couldn't keep living like this, with her close enough to touch and yet him unable…

It started like that, in his mind—with just one touch. He was following her to bed—to another night full of soft snores and unsatisfied desires, no doubt—when his hand suddenly drifted from its guiding place on her lower back to grabbing her ass. She let out a surprised gasp when he cupped it—which wasn't easy to do, considering all the layers of her gown—but he did it anyway and didn't let go. Her cheeks were pink when his eyes found them.

His cock was hard now. It was horribly, unrelentingly, almost _painfully _hard. It snapped to full mast the moment it was released from his breeches, and Marcus let out a half-relieved half-frustrated sigh. He reached down and fisted himself in both hands without preamble—he needed a release fast. He had time, he knew, but he couldn't enjoy that luxury right now. He was going to explode if he didn't do it quick. He could use his time wisely later.

He closed his eyes and immediately her face swam in the darkness there. Her mouth made a shocked 'O' shape, and he didn't hesitate to cover it with his own. His tongue was in her mouth and he was pressing her up against the nearest wall before either could draw a breath. But when they both paused for air, he looked into her eyes and he could see the approval, the want, the excitement there. The _want. _God, she wanted him, she always did in his fantasies; always, always, always. She never wanted anything but him, never wanted anything more than him. He loved that, and he could never get enough of it, of her. She began undoing the laces of her gown then, letting the bodice fall loose and free. His eyes feasted on her breasts as they spilled out, beautiful and pale with their pointed pink tips.

Marcus was almost moaning at the images his mind was feeding him. He only had one night to go on, of course, but every moment—the good and the bad—was imprinted there for ever. Her perky breasts and tight nipples were only one of the many things that he remembered with perfect clarity. He focused on them now, stroking himself quickly and firmly, and imagined inserting his cock between them. His tip was weeping already at the teasing, he could feel it. Just a few more strokes—

A startled gasp made his eyes fly open.

There, standing in front of him, was his wife. Her eyes were big and round and her hand was still on the door. She looked both shocked and scandalized at what she had walked in on. Though Marcus was not a blushing man, he did feel all of his blood rush to his head. His cock didn't go limp, unfortunately. He blinked a couple times before gathering himself.

"A—A—Alexandra," he stammered, standing up to defend himself. "I—"

"What are you doing in here?" Her voice was a low hiss, and the question was rhetorical. They both knew exactly what he was doing.

"F—Forgive me," he managed desperately, still shocked at her presence.

She shook her head resolutely. "I won't."

"Alexandra—"

"_Sit down_."

The force of her command was so unexpected that he could do nothing but follow. He watched, mesmerized and confused, as she walked towards him with slow, measured steps. Her dress rustled as she moved; it was the only sound in the room, save for the gay laughter and conversation drifting in from outside.

When she was less than a foot from him, she stopped walking. He swallowed, suddenly apprehensive of what she would say or do. He had no idea what to expect. He would have never thought they would find themselves in this kind of situation.

He almost jerked back when she reached her hand out and ran it though his hair. She buried it in the hairs at the back of his neck with an amused smile that only confounded him more. His brain shut down when she next moved.

"You don't ever have to apologize for this," she whispered, her hand cupping the back of his neck as she lowered herself to her knees between his legs. Her eyes stayed on his the entire time. Only when she settled herself before him did she finally look at his cock. It stuck out like a beacon, demanding attention and weeping in desperation.

Marcus could swear his heart stopped when her tongue darted out to lick the essence that protruded from the tip. He couldn't speak; he couldn't move. He was completely at her mercy, and he watched in dumbstruck awe as she lowered her mouth to take him in. His length was long and thick, he knew, but she handled it with surprising ease, like she knew exactly what she was doing and had done it countless times. Before he knew what was happening, he was burrowing his fingers in her hair, pulling her closer, and forcing his cock to the back of her throat. She welcomed it happily, moaning along with the impatient thrusts of his hips and never taking her eyes off of his.

His expletives turned to a constant string of her name and then unintelligible grunts as his pleasure increased. He was only moments away, he knew. He was going to blow soon; he couldn't wait. Not anymore. He'd waited forever. He'd waited and waited, and finally she'd emerged to deliver him like some goddess or angel of old. Just one moment more now. One moment, one—

.

A gentle shaking brought Marcus out of his daydream and back to the cruel reality. He'd fallen asleep on the settee, judging by the odd way his legs were sprawled across the piece of furniture. He blinked, averting his eyes from his own posture and finding hers staring into his. He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight of her so close, leaning over him.

"A—Alexandra," he managed, trying not to note that he stammered now in reality as he had in his dream. Marcus Sloan had never stammered in his life. "What—"

"You were rolling in your sleep," she informed him quietly, glancing over his contorted frame. "I—I didn't want you to fall to the floor."

He blinked, studying his limbs again. One leg was already on the floor, another arm was hanging over the side, and less than half of his body was being supported by the settee. He realized she was right, he would've fallen, and he reasoned that he should probably thank her for saving him what would've been a great headache and considerable back pain.

"My lord?" Alexandra wondered, standing in front of him with concerned brown eyes. "What were you dreaming about? Some nightmare?"

"N… Nightmare?"

"You were rolling in your sleep," she repeated. She bent closer to him. "And you look a bit flushed. Your face, it's—"

He jerked away from her quickly, not trusting himself to be near her right now. "It's nothing," he muttered gruffly, attempting to gather himself.

He saw the hurt pass through her eyes at his refusal to be close to her, but he couldn't dare explain it now. _She'll understand one day_, he told himself once again that day, just as he told himself every day. He squeezed his eyes shut, bringing a hand to pinch the skin of his forehead together, as if it might erase his dream from his mind, erase the image of her kneeling before him, erase the feel of her mouth around his…

He cleared his throat loudly, hoping to smash away his unclean, unhelpful thoughts with speech. "What time is it?" He wondered aloud, looking around. He couldn't see the sun from where he stood, and he had no idea what time it had been when he was last awake. He looked around, and found himself in the front room of the castle. He realized with a frown that he must've collapsed here just after walking in from the grounds. He took momentary pride in the fact that he'd managed to exhaust himself so fully today—one goal accomplished, at least.

"Just before supper," she replied. Her voice was quiet, and when he glanced at her briefly, he realized she was avoiding his eye as much as he was avoiding hers. It seemed they were both failing at that, considering how often their eyes did indeed meet. "Are you going to join me?" She wondered quietly. He could see her hesitating, her hand resting on the back of the armchair in front of her before she left.

_No, _he almost said. _No, _he _would've _said… if his stomach hadn't taken that moment to roar like a starving beast. He saw a smile turn up the edges of her lips when it became obvious that he was caught in an affirmative answer. He couldn't help but smile himself. "It appears I am."

"I'm happy to hear that," she told him, ducking her head… but he still saw that light pink color her cheeks. He bit the inside of his lip so his smile wouldn't turn into a grin. He wondered if she could control that blush—wondered if she knew what it did to him. Silently, he walked by her side into the dining room, and they took their seats.

He couldn't keep his eyes off her all night, and he wondered what it meant that her eyes were on his, too, most of the time. He tried not to be encouraged. She was looking at him; that didn't mean that she wasn't still scared of him. That didn't mean she'd forgotten what he'd done to her.

He sighed softly into the silence, and glanced down the length of the empty table. He suddenly felt the need to fill it. He needed noise and distraction and _life_… He needed something more than this silent prison his home had been turned into since she'd came… And he needed the buffer of guests between them, a barrier, because he was not sure how much longer he could keep this all up, how much longer he could keep himself away from her.

He spent the next couple days wondering how he might go about that, and what she would think. He did not know if she would be one to welcome guests—not that there was a long list of ones he planned to invite—and he decided he should have a plan before he spoke to her on the subject.

But he sent a letter to Derek nonetheless, thinking his wife might welcome her sister, at least, if no one else.

.

_He had her up against the bookcase; her back was pressed into the wood and leather-bound books and her front was pressed against his sweat-dotted skin. She was moaning aloud and he was cursing as he continued pumping his body inside her. He was relentless in his filling of her; he never stopped and nor did she want him to. Her loud moans turned to desperate and short-lived whimpers as her pleasure grew and grew. From the increased tempo of his thrusts and how deeply he was pushing himself inside her, she knew that he knew too. She could feel it, she could feel herself dangling over that peak, just about to dive into that wonderful sea of pleasure that she knew awaited her. Every time he pounded his body into hers, the bookcase shook and another cry escaped her. At least ten books had fallen from the shelves already, and the harder he thrusted himself inside her, the more the wood shelving wobbled and the more books fell. At this point, she wouldn't have cared if the whole shelf above her was knocked down on top of them. All that mattered was that her pleasure broke first; she knew he would come with her—he always did—and by then it wouldn't matter if they were buried in books or even dead._

_ His curses gradually became shorter and shorter until all she heard coming from his mouth was unintelligible grunts. She didn't mind. She wasn't sure she would even understand him at this point, incoherent as she was… Pending, of course, that she'd be able to hear him over the racket they were making._

_ Somehow, though, his voice broke through to her. He was muttering her name now, low and faint, but there all the same. She tried to force her eyes open—to see him and look into his eyes as their joint pleasure hit them—but all she could manage was a weak flutter of her eyelids._

_ "Alexandra…" His voice was deep and almost guttural in its want and need, like he was commanding her in some way, commanding her to embrace the sweet pleasure he was giving her. She didn't need to be told twice; she didn't need to be told at all. She knew exactly what she was getting and she basked in it._

_Though her eyes were squeezed shut, she could nearly see the sweat on his brow, see the determined lines that drew down his forehead, see the firm way he pressed his lips together when he wasn't speaking. In reply, she simply whimpered, too far gone already to open her eyes, let alone find the wherewithal to speak even his name._

_ "Alexandra," he growled, more insistent this time. Impatient._

_She almost laughed. She was impatient too! This tryst had taken long enough; the teasing was over. It had to be. She needed her release. "Alexandra… Alexandra…"_

"Alexandra!"

She jumped in her chair. He eyes went the size of tea saucers when she saw it was _him_ standing in front of her. _Oh, gods, _she cried silently to herself. She was suddenly sure he could read her mind, see what she had been thinking, dreaming, hoping, and praying for…

"What are you doing in here?"  
"I—" She broke off, glancing to the book in her hand before looking up and taking in all the ones around her. Wasn't it obvious what she was doing, given where she was? Her eyes finally settled on him. _Is this a trick question? _"I'm reading."

"You didn't hear me when I called you?"

"I…" She blinked. She could still feel his hands on her legs. She could still feel his lips on her neck. She could feel him inside— "I was just… thinking of something."

"Your sisters?"

"What?" Her already pink cheeks flushed an even darker shade. "No!"

He frowned, confused at her quick denial and worried it might ruin his plans. He couldn't stay in this house with her forever; he needed space from her, he needed other people to work as barriers between them. And he'd already sent a letter to Derek; he couldn't recall it now. "It's alright to think of them." He paused. "I… I've actually invited Derek and Meredith for dinner one night, if… if you… approved."

Alexandra paused. After the initial shock of him asking her opinion on the matter passed, and the fact that Derek would be there faded to the background, she realized that it really was a good idea. Maybe Meredith would be able to sort some of this out for her in person, since Alexandra knew she couldn't put it in writing. But Derek would be there too… Alexandra took a breath. Well, maybe he could help her husband. It would be worth it if she could find some time alone to speak with her sister, anyway.

Finally, she agreed. She prayed they would arrive soon.

.

_Author's Note: I know it might've been a bit confusing with some of the fantasies being italicized and others not, but I hope it was obvious enough as to what was real and what wasn't. Thank you all for reading! Please be kind (and awesome!) and leave me a review :)_


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14:**

_Author's Note__: Thank you all for your reviews! I'm sorry for the delay, here is the next chapter!_

_Disclaimer__: I own Marcus and Alexandra. And I sincerely apologize for what I'm putting them through._

.

It was a few days later, as her maids were brushing out her hair in preparation for her sister's visit, that she finally asked. "Why do you call me that?"

Dorthea met her mistress' eyes in the mirror. "Pardon me, my lady?"

"My name," Alexandra replied. "Why do you call me by my name and not my title?"

"It is customary for—"

"No, it is not," Alexandra interrupted, turning around in her chair. "It is not customary. You should never refer to me by my first name. You should only call me by my title, call me by my husband's name." She paused. "There is no reason you should even _know _my first name."

Alexandra found Grace's eyes, knowing Dorthea wouldn't crack. She stared at the girl, hating herself for putting that fear there, but knowing it was necessary. "Grace," she began softly but firmly, "dear, why do you call me Lady Alexandra? Even you know it's not the correct title."

"N—No," the girl stammered. "M'lady, it's not."

"Why have you two seen fit to call me it, then?" She looked between the two. "Hm?"

"He told us to," Grace whispered.

Dorthea's eyes shot like daggers to the girl, and Alexandra knew if she wasn't present, the older woman would've slapped her protégée. In fact, she was surprised that her presence made a difference. "_Grace._"

"I'm sorry." Her eyes were filled with tears when she looked between the two older women. "I'm s—so sorry, m'lady, but he told us not to, he told us to call you by your name, I thought you—"

"Why?" Alexandra breathed. She hadn't expected this at all. She turned to her older maid, who no doubt held all the answers to any question she'd have. "Why… Why would he do that?"

"Grace." Dorthea addressed the girl curtly, tipping her head towards the door. "You may go." The girl left without another word, but just as she was slipping through the door, Alexandra called her name.

"Thank you for telling me, dear." The girl tried to stammer pleasantries back, but was obviously incapable of coherent speech in her humiliated state. "It's alright," Alexandra told her softly. "You aren't in trouble, I promise." She glanced to Dorthea, looking at her as she told the young girl, "Not from me and not from anyone else."

"Th—Thank you, m'lady," Grace whispered gratefully, just before darting out the door.

Alexandra waited a few moments before pulling away from her maid's hand and turning in her chair to look the girl in the eye. "Tell me," she demanded quietly, "why did he order you to call me by my name?"

Dorthea closed her eyes, looking away for a moment before gathering herself and turning to look her mistress in the eye. "Honestly," she began, "I do not know, my lady. As a maid in the mistress' household, it is not my place to question the master's orders."

"So you have no idea?" Alexandra wondered. Her voice sounded defeated even to her own ears. "Not even an inkling of why he would order such a thing?"

.

The maid paused. It was no secret that the couple that employed her did not exactly… _get along._ The didn't fight, no, and they never argued. But they also barely spoke. Dorthea was by her mistress' side during almost every hour of the day, and in all that time, she had heard Lord Sloan and his wife exchange not more than a hundred words between them. And on those rare occasions when they spoke, Lady Alexandra did nearly all the talking. It saddened Dorthea when she seemed to give up, but then she had put herself in her mistress' shoes for a moment, and wondered what other option she had.

She often wondered if Lord Sloan had any idea how much he captivated his wife's attention. If he was in a room with her—it was rare these days, but still—if he was in a room that she also occupied, it was certain that her eyes would never leave him until he left the room.

Dorthea also saw the way her mistress captured her husband's attentions. More than once, he'd seemed to catch sight of her out of the corner of his eyes, and then his gaze would be stuck on her until she disappeared. Dorthea wondered, privately, how many times he'd stripped his wife naked with his eyes. He stared at her much too intensely to be doing anything other than making love to her in his mind.

She was constantly curious as to why they didn't do it more often in body. It was clear—so damnably clear—that they both wanted each other. But it was also so clear that neither of them ever acted on it, and it made no sense! Dorthea could not begin to imagine what would keep them apart, and for so long, when they both so obviously desired one another.

But it was of course not her place to ask such things.

.

"Is it because there are other women?" Alexandra asked quietly. She'd watched as her maid grew lost in thought, and each second that passed by in silence made her mind race. By now, after minutes had passed, she'd come to the conclusion that the worst must be true. "Is that why… why he stays away from me, why he doesn't want others to see me as… as his wife?"

Dorthea's head snapped up, and when Alexandra saw her eyes widen, she knew she'd landed on the correct answer. She tried not to let her heart twist too much in her chest, but of course that was impossible to control. _I should've known, _she realized sadly, numb already, _Didn't I know before I married him what he was like? Why did I think just because he gave me a ring he'd stop giving himself to others?_

"N—No," Dorthea answered, struggling to reply quickly. "My lady, it is not like that at all."

Alexandra forced a small smile for her loyal maid. It was nice of the woman to try to spare her feelings, but it was pointless now, with the truth staring them in the face. "Just tell me," she ordered quietly. "How many? What type?"

Dorthea glanced over her shoulder, obviously nervous about being overheard.

Alexandra gave her the smallest smile. "Do not worry. I will not tell him where I came by this information," she assured her maid quietly. "He will never know it was you."

Relief spread over the woman's face. "Thank you, my lady."

Alexandra lifted a hand, asking her to continue.

Dorthea took a deep breath. "It's not… not what you think, my lady. But…" She bit her lip. "I suppose you should know anyway."

Alexandra's brows knit in confusion, but she kept silent, knowing Dorthea would find it easier to continue if she wasn't being interrupted by her mistress between every sentence.

"A few years ago," she began, "there was a woman that used to live with him."

Alexandra frowned, puzzled. _Someone lived with him? Who?_ "He was married before me?" She wondered, confused as to why she hadn't already known.

"No, my lady."

"Then…" Alexandra trailed off, wondering what that meant. She remembered her original query, and realized a moment later. "Oh."

But Dorthea shook her head. "No, my lady, it was not…" She looked away, down at her feet as she spoke. "Addison was not a woman of that… class."

Alexandra's thin eyebrows rose at the name. _Addison, _she thought. _Addison… _She'd never heard the name in her life.

"She was… Well, she was a noble lady. She had to be, considering her clothing, her jewels, her sense of refinement and breeding…"

"What happened?"

Dorthea shrugged. "She left. I know not why, but one day she was not abed beside him when I came early in at dawn to stoke the fire. He seemed to know she was gone for good that morning, and he was right. None of us have seen her since." She paused, looking away. "I don't recall him speaking to anyone for months after that."

_So he's known heartbreak, _Alexandra thought, remembering her sister's comment about him being a heartless man. _He has a heart in there, or did at one time. _She paused, curious. _This Addison broke it, but did she take it as well? _She took a breath, and tried to analyze this situation as it pertained to her. "So this Addison… _She's _why he doesn't…want me?"

Alexandra tried not to let her sorrow show on her face. She had no idea what this Addison woman looked like, bur judging from what sort of man her husband seemed to be, she had no doubt that Addison had been beautiful beyond belief. Alexandra bit the inside of her lip. _Am I really so bad in comparison? So terribly plain?_ She tried not to think of when he'd told her he thought she was beautiful, and what a lie it had apparently been. She wondered if he'd been imaging Addison when he took her to bed that first time. Maybe that was the only way he'd gotten through with it. Maybe that was why he didn't want to do it again.

"No." Dorteha's soft reply brought Alexandra out of her melancholy thoughts. "He wants you, my lady, he does..."

"But?" Alexandra pressed. She know she shouldn't believe her maids quiet words—what did this woman _really_ know about her relationship with her husband, anyway?—but she couldn't help but hope.

Dorthea stared at her for a moment before seeming to make a decision. Her next words tumbled out of her mouth quickly, as if she wanted to be rid of them as fast as possible. "He wants you, my lady, but he wants you more than he ever anticipated, I think. I—I don't think he knows what to do with himself, much less with you. He wants you… that way… too much." She paused for a second before adding quietly, "I've seen him staring at you, my lady. It's clear in his eyes that he desires you."

Alexandra stared at her maid with a blank look in her eyes before the smallest smile teased up her lips, and a quiet chuckle escaped her mouth. "You're much too kind, Dorthea," she murmured quietly, "but I do appreciate the truth over a lie, no matter how sweet the latter sounds."

"M—My lady," Dorthea managed, "I wasn't—" She was about to say that she hadn't been lying, but there was a quick knock at the door.

Grace poked her head in then, announcing that Lord and Lady Shepherd had arrived, and Alexandra dismissed her maids before Dorthea could correct herself.

.

Alexandra watched them from an upstairs window in the hallway. She tired not to feel when she watched they way they embraced, the way Derek held her sister's hand as they walked to the door. She tried to remember the last time her husband had held her hand. It hadn't been since their wedding day, and then, it was merely a courtesy, not because he liked the feel of her fingers entwined with his.

Alexandra managed to smile, though, because the shock on her sister's face was too amusing not to notice. She looked positively dumbfounded by her surroundings, and Alexandra didn't blame her. She could still remember the first time she saw that castle that had now—somehow—become her home, and how she stared up at it with awe.

She decided to descend the stairs then, to meet her sister and brother-in-law as they walked to the front door. She was pleasantly surprised to find that her husband was already there. She gave him a small smile, watching as he welcomed both their guests. She tried not to think about the fact that he was showing more courtesy and attention to them than he'd shown her in weeks.

"Lexie!" Meredith nearly squealed her name, and as her sister rushed forward to hug her, Alexandra thought for a moment that she was in fact dealing with her _younger _sister, not her older.

"You sound like Laura," she teased when their embrace ended.

Meredith smiled, and gripped her sister's hands as the parted. "You look beautiful," she beamed. Alexandra herself smiled, and she glanced over her shoulder, hoping to catch sight of her husband to see what he thought of that statement—but he was nowhere to be found. Neither was Derek Shepherd, though Alexandra wasn't sad to see _him_ go. She figured they must've disappeared to have their own conversations in the privacy of each other's company. That suited Alexandra just fine. She had certain things to discuss with her sister, things she knew that could never be overheard by the two men.

.

"Do you know if she's pregnant yet?"

Marcus shook his head, staring at the treeline in the far distance as they slowly made their way away from the castle. The gravel pathway crunched softly under the rhythmic step of their feet. "We haven't talked about it," he answered quietly.

Derek glanced to his friend, smirking. _Of course they haven't talked about it._ He wondered, "Do you think your mother will actually show by next fall?"

Marcus sighed. "I wouldn't doubt it." He closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Waiting for my mother to die along with my father is a tiresome chore. I'd like to be able to count down the days until she joins him in hell."

Derek shrugged. "She _is _getting old. Who knows if she'll live to see the next harvest."

"We can only hope." Marcus smirked, and Derek was glad to see some of his old friend back. He'd been uncharacteristically quiet and soft-spoken today. He wondered were all the boisterousness had gone.

Derek paused a moment before continuing, "You said your wife wasn't pregnant…" Derek trailed off. He was confused at his friend's subdued manner. "But you have… _done _it, yes? She's lawfully your wife, body and all, correct?"

Marcus nodded, but didn't elaborate. He'd been dreading this conversation, but part of him was glad that the topic was broached early. Maybe it would be over soon. Marcus sighed. He was sure his friend would not understand if he tried to explain it all. He wasn't even sure he understood it all himself. All he knew was that he wanted her, all of the time, but that he couldn't _have her,_ not without hurting her, not without hating himself.

"Well…" Derek seemed to think of a response before wondering, bluntly, "How was it?"

Marcus almost laughed; if he hadn't been so caught up in his own head, he would have. As it was, though, he barely managed a smile. "It was fine," he murmured, barely letting his lips move. He hoped Derek would leave it there, but of course that was too much to ask.

Derek gaped at him, his deep blue eyes actually widening in genuine surprise at his friend's sparse answer. "'Fine?'" He laughed. "That's the best you have for me, Sloan? It was '_fine_?'"

"What?" Marcus tried not to snap, but already Derek's blasé manner made the only Sloan child want to punch the smile off his mouth.

"I expected more," Derek replied, grinning. "Some talk about her figure, and how good it feels inside her… Maybe a word or two about her tits, to finish things off. You know, your usual style."

Marcus snorted, looking away, but didn't reply.

Though he couldn't see him, he knew Derek was staring at him with widened eyes as he asked, "Good gods, what has this woman _done_ to you?"

"She…" Marcus shut his eyes. He could see the tears on her face and the blood on the sheets. Still. _How is it that I managed to make it so horrible for her? _He wondered for the millionth time._ So horrible that she must hide from me, each and every day, and disappear in old texts to escape her new life? _"We consummated the marriage, but we have not…"

Derek's eyes widened further, so much so that it was near comical. "Are you saying you've been living without for almost a month?" Marcus didn't reply, but the answer was written on his face. "Does she know you've been to whorehouses?" Derek wondered a moment later, curious. He knew Alexandra would not be pleased to discover that.

Marcus flinched at that question, coming to a full stop. "What?" His eyes flew to his best friend's, alarmed. "What are you talking about?"

"What…" Derek paused, stopping as well. "What are _you_ talking about? Are you saying you haven't visited any?" Marcus shook his head, and Derek's mouth opened and closed a couple times before he wondered slowly, "Are you trying to tell me you—_Marcus Sloan_—haven't fucked _any_ women in…in an entire _month_?"

Marcus had never thought of it like that. In truth, it had never crossed his mind to visit a brothel. None of those women were the one he wanted, and it seemed counterintuitive to waste his money and time on what he already knew he didn't want. "It was my choice," he replied defensively.

"Oh, gods…" Derek closed his eyes, chuckling softly. "This will not end well for anyone."

"You don't understand, Derek," Marcus snapped, visibly irritated now. "I hurt her, I—"

Derek almost laughed—and would have, if it weren't for the anger and pain in his friend's eyes. He softened his voice then, and lowered it. "Yes, she was a maiden," he answered with a half-smile. "The pain's part of it all. It'll be easier the next time." He stared at his friend. "How is it that you do not know that?"

Marcus shook his head in denial. "It won't be any easier the second time."

"You'll never know that 'til you try now, will you?"

Marcus shook his head again. "You don't understand," he repeated. "You weren't there, you can't possibly—"

"I've taken a woman's maidenhead, too, if you recall," Derek reminded his friend.

Marcus snorted disapprovingly at the comparison. "My wife is not a clone of yours."  
Derek nodded in agreement. "No, she isn't." He tried not to smile. He couldn't imagine marrying Alexandra instead of Meredith. She would probably kill him before she'd even reached the altar.

"She _bled, _Derek." Marcus' voice came to from what seemed a long ways away.

Derek gave his friend a small smile. "That _happens, _Mark," he replied soothingly. "That's what it's like when you take a maiden." He stared at his friend, trying not to smirk. It was rare that he _ever_ knew more than Marcus Sloan about the art of taking a woman to bed. And rarer still that he was the one offering advice in such matters. "Gods, I can't believe you haven't done this before."

Mark might've replied that he preferred experienced women and that's why he hadn't done it with maidens before, but… _But that isn't true anymore, now is it? _He shut his eyes. He couldn't imagine going to bed with any other woman but her now. He paused. He wondered when that had happened, when she became the one he fantasied about. The one who replaced Addison and all the rest. "She… was my first," he admitted after a moment.

A smile flickered on Derek's lips as he glanced to his friend. "And you were hers." He clapped his friend on the back and continued walking. "How about we say you'll both be each other's lasts, hm? Be nice to her and she won't go looking."

_She won't go looking because she's already found him, _Mark thought to himself bitterly, focusing on their walk again. The gravel crunched loudly under his quick, confident stride. _But the boy's dead, rotting in the ground, so she's stuck with me instead. Me, who makes her bleed and cry. Me, who takes her away from her home and her sisters and everything she's ever known. Me, who can barely be in the same room as her, who can't even speak to her. How lucky she is to have _me_._

.

Alexandra chewed her lip, glancing over her shoulder to make sure the doors to the parlor were closed. They were. And there were no servants in the room. But still, she hesitated. She was half under the impression that they were able to hear through the walls, no matter how thick the wood or stone was. She lowered her voice to the softest whisper, just loud enough so her sister could hear her on the opposite couch. "We… We haven't done… _it_ since, since… since our wedding night. W—We haven't been together… in bed… since that first night."

Meredith's forehead creased, confused. This wasn't at all what she'd been expecting when she came to visit. She could still remember the day her sister met her husband, and how she admitted to finding him so attractive, so handsome, so unlike anyone she'd ever laid eyes on. How was it that their marriage had deteriorated so rapidly after how immediately they'd seemed to hit it off? "You two haven't wanted each other?"

Alexandra looked away. "I don't know if he wants _me_. He hasn't said or… or done anything…"

Meredith let her sister trail off, choosing her moment. "But do you want him, Lexie?"

Alexandra looked to her sister with eyes full of guilt. "Yes," she whispered.

Meredith almost laughed, but refrained from doing so, and refrained from clapping her hands together. She smiled so wide it reached her eyes. This was wonderful. _They may be at strange odds now, _she thought, _but some needs must be met, and fast. Neither will last much longer. _"Why do you look so horribly ashamed, sister?" She wondered with a teasing grin. "You haven't been unfaithful, have you?"

"What?" Alexandra's shame turned to outrage. "Of course not!"

Meredith smiled easily; she knew her sister hadn't been. She'd only been playing with her. "Then what is it?"

"I…" Alexandra looked over her shoulder, but upon seeing that the servants she'd sent away had already disappeared, she turned back to her sister. "I…" She took a breath, and the rest came out in a hasty whisper. "I've thought about him, Meredith."

Meredith waited for her sister to continue, but when she didn't, the elder Grey simply nodded slowly. "That is… good." She shifted in her seat. "He is your husband. You should think of him."

"No, I…" She looked away, and Meredith could see her sister's cheeks grow flushed with embarrassment. She leaned closer instinctively, knowing that the other woman was hiding something interesting. "I've thought about him and I… being together." Her eyes flickered to her sister's for just the shortest moment. "Like… Like we were on our wedding night."

Meredith regarded her sister for a long minute. Finally, she wondered, almost bored, "Is that but it?" She had expected something more exciting, more climactic.

Alexandra's eyes grew wide with surprise. "But it?" She protested. "It—It—It is—"

"Alexandra, that is naught to be ashamed of," Meredith smiled. Her smile widened to a satisfied grin a second later. "If I had a piece of silver for every time I thought of Derek—"

"Meredith!" She all but shouted her sister's name to quiet her, her head whipping over her shoulder. They were still alone in the room, she was thankful for such, but that did not mean there were not ears listening elsewhere. She lowered her voice accordingly, imploring her sister to do the same. "He does not know," she whispered. "And he can't—" She swallowed. "He can't know, alright? You can't tell Derek." She drew a quick breath. "What I've thought—it's—it's—_unclean._ It's not… not suitable, not…" Her eyes brimmed with tears—angry, humiliated tears. She hated how sensitive her tear ducts were. It was almost as bad as that damnable blushing she had to contend with at all hours.

"Oh, Lexie…" Meredith murmured, getting up from her seat and rounding the low table to be at her sister's side. She immediately drew the younger girl into a hug, kissing her cheeks swiftly. "Sister, it's nothing to be ashamed of, I promise you. Everyone thinks like that. _Everyone._" She looked Alexandra in the eye, waiting until the girl nodded, sniffing. She regarded her younger sister, sitting back and studying her for a minute. "Have you tried…" She quirked her mouth to the side, humming to herself for a second as she thought.

"What?" Alexandra pressed. She wiped her eyes quickly. "What is it? What do I try?"

Meredith licked her lips, and then asked rather bluntly, "Well... Have you tried to… seduce him?"

Alexandra drew a breath, about to answer, before she realized she didn't know what to say. "Seduce…," she mumbled. A minute passed before she replied shakily, "I… I wouldn't know how to do that."

Meredith smiled happily in reply, pleased that this was an simple problem with an easy solution. "I think I can help you with that," she grinned. "It's nowhere near as hard as you fear, trust me. All you need to do is…"

.

The day passed quickly after that. Alexandra didn't know how she got through dinner without going mad, but somehow she managed. She was glad Meredith and Derek were there for the meal—she didn't know how many more she could take alone, and after everything her sister had advised her to do tonight…

Suffice to say, if she and her husband had been eating privately, she would've done so naked.

Even though dinner would not have been survivable without them, Alexandra was rather pleased to see Meredith and Derek go afterwards as they did. They had a long way home in front of them, and it was good they were getting a head start… But she would be lying if that was the only reason she wanted them gone.

Meredith's advice flew through her head all night, making her more and more restless as the hours continued to whittle by ever so slowly. Finally, _finally, _the sun began to set and it was late enough for her to retire to bed. They had spent a quiet evening, her and her husband, and she was pleased that he was sitting right there to hear her when she announced she was leaving for bed.

The way he avoided her eye then was troublesome, but Alexandra didn't bother paying too much attention to it. He was probably preoccupied with something else. She smiled to herself as she ascended the main staircase slowly. She'd take his mind off of his troubles tonight. Meredith had told her what to do and she was right—it wasn't hard. It was the simplest thing.

It would work, she knew it would.

She promised herself she would show him. She would show him that she was worthy of being his wife, that she could do it. Her sister's encouragement rang in her ears as she undressed, alone in their bedchamber.

_He won't be able to resist you, I promise._

When Alexandra had replied that she hoped not, Meredith had grinned and swatted her arm lightly, telling her there was no reason to bother with hope. _He'll want you. He wants you already._

Those light, giddy words of encouragement never failed to make Alexandra smile. And so, it wasn't a surprise to her, that when he finally came to join his wife in bed, Alexandra wore nothing more than a smile on her face as she awaited him.

.

She was standing naked, from neck to heel, in the middle of the room when he walked in. She was standing just to the left of their bed, just feet away from the door. Feet away from him. He could see every detail—her pale skin, her rounded breasts and pink nipples, her slim and creamy thighs…

He blinked, but still, she didn't disappear. The image of her didn't waver or shake. He blinked again, harder. _This is a dream, this is a dream, this _must _be a dream._ But when he opened his eyes again, she was still standing there. She was still naked.

There was even the smallest, most nervous smile on her lips.

_This must be a dream._

But when he blinked again, still, she didn't disappear. Her little smile didn't even waver.

His mouth was dry as if he'd been dying of thirst for days when he managed to speak. "What—What are you doing?" He croaked, unable to take his eyes off of her.

Already, he could feel himself spiraling out of control. He could hear her moaning, see her writhing as he brought her to pleasure. He turned his head away—desperate to stop letting her naked body feed his delusions—and was assaulted by another kind of torture. Her thighs were slicked with blood, her face stained with tears, but still he couldn't stop, he couldn't pull back, he was _incapable _of leaving her…

.

Alexandra smiled again, trying not to look too nervous. Her skin felt like it was on fire—and in a humiliating way, not a delightful way, like it had that first night. "Isn't it obvious?" She wondered softly, a quiet laugh making her words light and happy.

Marcus forced his eyes shut so he could speak. It didn't help. The image of her naked body was imprinted on his mind; he could see it behind his eyelids. "You… You should put your clothes on," he managed weakly, struggling not to look at her, struggling not to give in.

"You should take yours off," she suggested boldly, barely aware of what she was even saying.

His eyes snapped open at that, and she bit back a smile as she stepped towards him. She did so slowly, trying to add some sort of sway to her hips she knew men liked, but she couldn't tell if she accomplished it. He still had that same look of shock on his face that he did when he first walked in.

When she was close enough to touch him, she reached out her hands to cup his cheeks and draw him close for a kiss—but he jerked away so violently she drew back as well, stunned. His sharp rejection made her hands fall to her sides, and as he backed away, she found herself rooted to the spot, frozen. She didn't even feel like herself when she heard that quiet, lovesick, desperate little girl whisper, "Not even a kiss? You can't even spare me that? Just… Just one kiss?" She didn't say 'please,' but from the way she almost begged for his favor, she might as well have.

"You should put your clothes on," he repeated, and she could see the tension in his jaw, his forehead, see the high-strung way he held himself away from her.

Why was he doing that? She wasn't dangerous. She wasn't unknown to him. She wasn't a _stranger_, a person to be feared or hated or ignored. She wasn't supposed to be ostracized like this. She didn't… didn't deserve this.

"I'm your _wife_," she whispered, hating the way the words scratched her suddenly raw throat on the way out. It made it sound like she was trying to grasp at a title that wasn't hers, as if she were reaching for a station so high above her place. "We're s—supposed to do this," she told him, taking another step forward. "We, we _have_ to. We—" She broke off when his eyes met hers, swallowing her words and trying not to sniff.

He stared at her, his intense blue eyes cold as ice, and the question was obvious in his disapproving gaze. _Aren't you pregnant yet?_

That brought her even closer to tears. She tried not to remember how she saw the blood between her thighs just days ago, but it was useless to try to forget. Just as how it was useless to try to forget his mother's parting words, her promise to visit and expect a son before the year was out. _It's not my fault! _Alexandra wanted to scream. _It's not just _my_ fault, damn it! _But she didn't say that. She didn't swear; she didn't raise her voice in anger. When she did speak, she tried to sound commanding, but of course her voice shook and she sounded like a petulant child demanding a toy that was denied to her. "We have to," she repeated desperately, "we _have_ to do this! We can't just ignore it," she continued, her voice rising, "we can't keep—"

"I said, _put your clothes on_," he ordered, harsher this time. She was struck still by his raised voice—he'd never spoken to her like this before—and shocked when his beautiful blue eyes burned into hers, like a fire raging under water. "That wasn't a request," he shouted, "do it NOW!"

Each angered word out of his mouth hit her like a punch to her gut, and she bit her lip, hard, before it had a chance to tremble before him. She turned away without another word, her hand flying to her mouth. Alexandra bit down on the first joint of her index finger so he wouldn't hear the sob that was threatening to rip its way out of her at his fierce rejection.

She couldn't understand it. Meredith had said it would be easy. Meredith had said it would _work_. Gods, even her silly handmaiden had said her husband wanted her. Why was everyone so blind?

Why was _she _so blind? She should've known better.

Alexandra bit her lip, hard, hating herself for the way her eyes pricked with tears. She was still such a stupid, naïve, little girl; no better than Laura or Grace. Nonetheless, she stepped away to the dresser, found her clothes, and did as she was told.

.

Marcus wanted to kill himself. He wanted to string himself up on a rope and hang himself until he couldn't breathe, until he died.

He couldn't understand how every moment he spent with her brought their relationship even closer to disaster. Every moment he spent burned yet another carefully constructed bridge between them. He tried not to groan aloud when she turned away. Why had she looked like she was going to cry? Why was she so desperate for him to take her to bed?

Didn't she understand what she would be doing with him when she asked these things of him? He didn't know if he could be gentle with her as he had tried—and failed—to do the first time. His lust for her had hit previously unknown heights, and when he'd walked into the room before, he'd nearly ran to her, and taken her where she stood. It wouldn't have been hard. He would've loved it. But she…

Gods, what was _wrong _with her?

Why did she stand naked before him, begging him to take her to bed? Was she truly the devil, brought here to torment him for all his past misdeeds? Brought here to push him and press him and tease him until he finally had no self-control left? He would wonder what he did to deserve this fate if he was another man, but he was who he was and he knew all too well what he'd done.

.

"You'll be gone in the morning, won't you?" She asked minutes later, after the darkness and silence had settled down upon them like a choking fog as they laid in bed together—but apart. So far apart. She tried to keep her voice level and devoid of emotion, but she was half-certain it shook nonetheless.

She heard him shift in the bed, possibly turning towards her, but she didn't reciprocate. He could look at her back for a night if he wished. She tried to tell herself that he deserved nothing less. "Yes," he answered after a still second, sounding oddly reluctant.

She bit her lip hard so she wouldn't sob the word. "Good." She ended up whispering it hoarsely, hoping he wouldn't notice the way it was soaked in tears. It came out harsh and hard to her ears, though, and that made her happy. She knew it was the only vengeance she'd ever have.

He didn't say anything after that, and though she could hear him breathing behind her, she didn't say anything either. She closed her eyes, and hated herself when the tears leaked out. _What sort of wife doesn't know how to entice her husband into bed?_ It was no wonder she wasn't pregnant yet, with all the nights they'd wasted sleeping instead of attempting to fulfill their obligations to each other. Alexandra bit her lip, closing her eyes as the tears stung again. When would she ever learn that all men were the same? So he showed her kindness on their wedding night; that meant nothing. He had clearly only done it out of duty—he couldn't even look upon her naked body for ten seconds before ordering her to cover up now; she was lucky that he'd showed her so much kindness on their wedding night.

She hated herself for being so stupid. Why had she listened to Meredith in the first place? Meredith didn't know anything. Meredith had a husband who loved her; what did Alexandra have? She and her husband were practically enemies with the way they'd spoken and acted towards each other tonight. She suddenly understood why older couples resented each other so publicly and deeply. Why they _hated _each other. It was because of moments like this one. It was because of unattractive wives and husbands who were unwilling—who could blame them?—to do their marital duty.

She tried not to imagine what the rest of her life would be like. Childless, angry, full of hate—for herself and for him. She knew this silent, resentful night would only the first of very, very many.

She dreaded her new mother's visit now more than she ever had before, even during those first few days. How would she explain herself now? There was no way she could say it was her husband's fault she wasn't pregnant. It was _her _fault, anyway, Alexandra's fault, of course. What woman didn't know how to use her body correctly? It wasn't difficult. All men responded to a naked woman. But somehow she'd ruined it; somehow she'd managed to push him even further away instead of drawing him closer like any woman would be able to do.

His mother's wishes hovered like a horrible cloud over them—over _her_—at all times. Alexandra couldn't forget her duties; she couldn't let her husband forget his. She couldn't risk it. But there was no way to rectify that now. That time was long past, but, oh, gods, what would they do when his mother arrived and she didn't have a child to show her? Forget the worries about the sex of the babe—what would happen when she didn't have _anything _to present to her new mother? Not even a worthless daughter? Not even a rounded stomach? _Nothing_?

She got the feeling that that woman could kill with just a look of her cold, sharp eyes.

And she had passed that trait down to her son, apparently.

.

The hours passed, but still Alexandra couldn't fall asleep. She was wide-awake most of the night, turning their last interactions over in her head again and again.

Alexandra hated herself for the way she'd presented herself to him. As if she were something he could or couldn't take, as if he had a choice—but there wasn't a choice. He didn't have the luxury of choice; neither of them did! This was their duty and they must do it. And he had already made his choice, damn it! He married her, he took her to bed—why couldn't he do it again? Didn't he understand that they had to have a child before the year was out? Only the gods above knew what his mother would do to the both of them, if they failed with the only task that she'd set before them.

She had a duty to fill, gods be damned, and she needed _him _to help her fulfill it. She had to have him, and he had to have her; there was no other option. Why didn't he _see _that? Why didn't he know that, why was he so damn _dense_? So _stupid_? Alexandra bit her lip hard, and felt more tears slip out of her eyes. She shouldn't be thinking these kinds of thoughts. She shouldn't dare think them, for she knew once she thought them, they'd invariably come pouring out of her mouth sooner rather than later—gods forbid, where he could hear them.

She felt fear clench her belly. He'd yelled at her tonight, simply for taking off her clothes and trying to entice him into bed… What would he do if he ever heard her openly insulting him—questioning his _intelligence_… She tried not to shudder, but she could foresee the situation already.

No one had ever hit her before.

She didn't even have the slightest idea of what it would feel like. She didn't know how to brace herself. It would hurt, she knew that of course, but…

She closed her eyes. It wasn't hard to guess what it would feel like. He had large, strong hands… He had muscular arms, too—recalling that she'd found his strength attractive before was nearly sickening now—and she knew they would hold a lot of power. She was suddenly very certain that it would hurt, and it would hurt terribly. She'd have a bruise on her face for weeks afterward, she estimated, if she gave him cause to strike her. She felt her lower lip tremble in fear. After the sharp way he'd yelled at her tonight, she was sure he wouldn't hesitate to smack her across the face if she disobeyed him or insulted him aloud where he could hear. She squeezed her eyes shut and let the tears leak out.

This wasn't right. This wasn't what her life was supposed to be like. She was never supposed to have to worry about having a husband who might hit her.

She was supposed to have married George. Kind and gentle George, who wouldn't have hurt a spider even if it bit him. George, who went off to war because he believed in their king, their kingdom, and protecting the people who lived in it. Believed in protecting her. George, who would never have hit her even if she'd been horrible enough to hit him first.

But then George had died and she'd had to marry _him _instead.

Not for the first time, and probably not for the last, Alexandra cried herself to sleep over that fact, struggling not to be heard.

.

_Author's Note: I know I keep saying this, but I PROMISE things will start looking up soon. I PROMISE. I know this is frustrating, but please trust me, please bear with me. I promise it will be worth it in the end._

_Thank you all so much for reading. Please be lovely and leave me a review._


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15:**

_To MW456: You won't have to wait until the end for them to be happy. It will actually happen quite quicker than that. And I hate angst too—but I hate angst without meaning. I like to think that my angst has meaning and purpose._

_Author's Note: Thank you all so much for your reviews on the last chapter. I'm very sorry I seemed to have ripped out quite a few of your guys' hearts and stomped on them. That wasn't exactly my intention. But I'm happy to let you know that your hearts won't be getting stomped on again anytime soon. I hope you like this chapter._

.

They never spoke of that incident again. True to his word, he was gone before she even woke up. And when she went to bed the following night, he still wasn't there. This cycle repeated itself so many times that Alexandra would've thought that she spent every night alone in bed—but she saw the rumpled sheets in the morning and she knew he'd been there with her, at least for a few hours.

She wondered, concerned—in the back of her mind, of course—how he was functioning on so little sleep. It didn't cross her mind that he was, in fact, not functioning at all.

She felt as if she weren't functioning herself. Even previously exciting tasks—like choosing her wardrobe for the day from the hundreds she had to pick from—became boring and repetitive and increasingly meaningless. There was no one of value to see her in these beautiful gowns anymore, so she didn't care how she looked. She would've walked around naked if that were acceptable, but of course it was not. And so she let Grace pick her outfit each day. It brought the smallest smile to her lips—just watching the way the little girl's eyes lit up when she was asked to open the closet door and pick whatever she wanted—as if she herself owned it all. It was every girl's dream, Alexandra knew, to have all the clothes in the world, all the money in the world, and a powerful husband attached.

It just wasn't hers, not anymore.

.

Her sister had written to her, asking in her coy but knowing and teasing manner how things had gone after she and Derek left, but Alexandra didn't reply. More and more letters came, each more worried than the last—a few even threatening that she'd drop by to visit—but Alexandra burned each of them, not caring to reply and, after a few weeks, not caring for the contents. Many times, she didn't even open the letters before having them tossed into the flames. Her sister had nothing new to say and Alexandra had nothing new to tell her.

There was only one letter that she kept.

.

It arrived one afternoon, hand-delivered, in the hands of Lady Carolyn Shepherd.

Out of all the people in her life—which where few, admittedly—this woman was the last Alexandra ever expected to see show up on her doorstep. If she were a betting person, she would've put all her money that her husband's mother would arrive demanding to see her grandchild before she was ever visited by her sister's new mother.

Alexandra was so surprised that it took her a moment to answer the servant who'd arrived in the library to tell her of the visitor. When she was prompted softly, Alexandra replied, almost in a daze due to surprise, "Of course I'll see her," and got to her feet. She left the book she had been reading—or rather, the collection of text she had been staring at as her mind wandered aimlessly—on the chair, trusting someone else to put it away for her as she headed to the entrance hall to greet her guest.

Alexandra recognized the reigning Lady Shepherd immediately. Her stark white hair, cut short to frame her face, the gentle but very noticeable creases on her skin from age, and the customary upturn of her lips. She was robed in a deep burgundy shade, the train of her dress rustling softly as she pivoted and turned from side to side to view every aspect of the room she was standing in. That gentle smile never left her face. She looked happier simply staring at the draperies than Alexandra had felt in weeks.

"I've always loved visiting here," Lady Carolyn commented quietly, interrupting Alexandra before she could even begin to greet her. "It's such a beautiful place, so unique and so grand. The building's been passed down generation from generation, you know. Through the oldest son, of course. If I recall correctly, Mark's great-great-grandfather commissioned it to be built when he was an old man. A smaller castle used to stand here—I think it was a summer home—but they razed that one to build this one. From what I hear, the current model is a great improvement from the last. The Sloans called it a dinky little thing, since it couldn't hold more than the couple's fifteen children and just _three_ personal servants for each member of the family." She smiled to herself, laughing quietly, as she looked around at her lavish surroundings. "That Sloan trait of excess, of course, didn't pass by Mark without leaving a noticeable impression."

Her eye passed by Alexandra then, standing still and listening a few feet away, and she seemed to take note of the girl for the first time. Her previously laughing eyes grew chilled with quiet shock. Her lips parted slightly, and she looked the girl up and down before asking quietly, "Has something happened, child?"

Alexandra frowned, her eyebrows drawing together in confusion. Her mind reeled. _How could she sense that? Already? _"W—What?" She stammered, feeling her heartbeat pick up. She hadn't spoken of that incident with anyone—not ever, not in the three weeks since it had occurred—and she found herself almost shaking at the thought that this woman could see it all, just after exchanging one glance with her. "W—What do you mean, my lady?"

"You're wearing black," Carolyn pointed out, as if it were obvious.

Alexandra looked down at herself. And it _was _obvious. It was so horrible obvious. She _was _wearing black; she was _covered _in black. She looked over her shoulder, but her little handmaiden was nowhere nearby. Why had Grace dressed her all in black? Even a young one like her must understand that it was reserved for funerals and mourning periods. _Why did she dressed me in black?_

Lady Carolyn eyed her for a moment before wondering, "Tell me, child," she began gently, "has he been good to you?"

Alexandra opened her mouth at once, but then decided against answering. She could feel her heart beating again in her chest; this woman knew something, she must. But there was no way Alexandra could speak of it, of any of it. She didn't want to know what would happen if word of this conversation got back to her husband. Instead, she forced a smile, gestured towards the sitting room past the foyer, and asked politely, "Would you like to sit down, Lady Shepherd? I'm sure it's been a long journey for you."

Carolyn took a moment to reply, staring at Alexandra with those crisp, bright blue eyes of hers—so much like her son's—before nodding and replying, "Yes, it has been a long journey." Somehow even those polite words sounded loaded with hidden meaning to Alexandra's ears, but she didn't really feel like trying to puzzle out the answer. She didn't feel like doing anything these days.

.

They retired to the parlor, and sat themselves down on opposite couches. After a minute, a tea service was set between them, though neither Alexandra nor her guest reached for the refreshments. The silence hung between them—awkward, almost too awkward to alleviate—before Alexandra asked quietly, "Might I enquire to the purpose of your visit here, Lady Shepherd? I hadn't expected to see you today." _Or any day._

The older woman smiled politely for a moment, acknowledging that she heard the question, but with a look in her eye, she ignored it. "Where is Mark?" She wondered, looking around as if she were waiting for him to walk in from another room.

Alexandra almost smiled. The idea that he would be within a five-mile radius at this time of day was amusing; the notion that he might be somewhere in the house was completely preposterous and almost laughable. "He isn't here," she replied.

Lady Carolyn smiled dotingly on the woman sitting before her, as if she was a bit slow of mind. "How about where he's _gone_, child, can you at least tell me that?"

Alexandra shook her head. She couldn't even muster enough emotion to care that Derek Shepherd's mother had just spoken to her in as condescending a manner as she had. Part of her noted fiercely that she didn't have to put up with that condescension, she didn't have to put up with being addressed as a _child_; she had a powerful, wealthy husband and through him, more money than the woman sitting across her had ever had, or could ever hope to have, in her entire life. Another voice asked if she really was married after all, for she couldn't remember the last time she'd seen the elusive man whom she was obligated by law and church and custom to refer to as her husband.

"Riding or hunting, possibly," she answered after a moment. "But he's probably down in the village. He goes there a lot." _While I'm stuck here._

Carolyn Shepherd almost laughed. She couldn't image the man she knew as Mark Sloan going about every other man's business down in the village. What happened that young man that shirked every responsibility that was bestowed upon him, who went off chasing girls instead of learning to be a real man? But something else was more pressing. Carolyn's gray eyebrows arched as she recalled the uncertain way the girl had responded to her question, as if she didn't have a concrete answer. "He doesn't tell you his whereabouts? Doesn't even leave them with the servants?" She frowned. "What if you needed him?"

Alexandra stared at her hands as the words she never thought she'd speak left her mouth. "He's never told me where he goes. Even before…" She bit her lip, and forced the scarring memories away. Or tried to, at least. She began anew, but still the haunting recollections swam in her mind as she spoke. "We haven't beheld each other in weeks," she admitted softly, surprised at how indifferent her voice sounded outside of her own head. "It's been even longer since we've spoken." She laughed quietly, not even registering the horror on Lady Shepherd's face. "I would say I've forgotten what his voice sounds like, or what he looks like, but those aren't things I'm capable of forgetting." She forced a smile on her face, and looked up to meet Lady Shepherd's open mouth. "But to answer your original question, no, my lady, he has not been good to me. But I highly doubt I am anywhere near the top on the list of what concerns him." She gave the old woman a cheery smile. "Perhaps you should question the whores he sees. No doubt they know him better than I do."

Carolyn Shepherd was speechless for a long while. The minutes ticked by between them, silent and strained, until Carolyn finally cleared her throat. "Well…" She extended her hand across the table, over the uneaten piles of food and saucers of now-cold tea, to pass a letter to the younger woman. Alexandra took it, her eyes roaming over the wax seal. It bore the Shepherd's emblem, and Alexandra frowned, wondering why this woman would bother both visiting her and bringing her a letter. Why not say everything she had to say aloud, or write down everything she had to say and send it through a raven? Why waste time and effort going through both channels?

Alexandra didn't bother asking what Carolyn's aim was behind these endeavors. She barely cared. Instead, the held the note in her hand, and stood to her feet. Without a word, she led Lady Carolyn to the door. She was too embarrassed to open her mouth—too afraid of what else would spill out—so she simply nodded good-bye. She hoped she had license to be so rude, for she couldn't stand being polite anymore.

Alexandra cradled the letter in her hands, watching Carolyn Shepherd's carriage drive away from the castle and down the front lane. She waited until long after the woman's coach turned into a tiny speck before she turned away from the front windows and headed back to her bedroom. She found Grace there, dusting. She was about to dismiss the girl—she wanted to read the letter in private—but then one of Lady Carolyn's statements came back to her.

She called the girl away from her work for a moment, instructing her to find something brighter from the closet to dress her in. "Black is for mourning," she told Grace when returned, carrying a blue dress in her hands.

"I know, m'lady," she replied dutifully. "I thought you were—" The girl abruptly cut off, looking away as her eyes widened in mortification.

"You thought I was what?" Alexandra wondered, her interest piqued. She stared at Grace until she answered.

"I… I thought you _were _mourning, m'lady." She paused, drawing a shaky breath. "You… You se—seemed like you were, at least." She bit her lip. "And you still… You still seem so sad, m'lady," she whispered softly, staring at her feet.

Alexandra stared at her little maid, surprised. _I do? _She wondered. She thought back… Alexandra hadn't thought that she'd been so melancholy over the past few weeks, but then she realized that of course she had been, and it shouldn't come to her as a surprise now, considering what had happened. Her days hadn't been very bright since that one, long night…

She cleared her mind, addressing Grace, "Please don't ever dress me in black again."

"I won't, m'lady," the girl replied, sounding so guilty she might cry. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," Alexandra murmured, slipping her arms out of the sleeves as Grace pulled the laces undone. "It was an understandable mistake." When she was finished being dressed—in a soft blue color now—she sent her maid away and cradled the letter in her hands. Carefully, she broke the seal and unfolded the letter to read. It wasn't, as it turned out, from Carolyn Shepherd, as Alexandra had first suspected. In fact, it wasn't from _anyone_ Alexandra would havesuspected if she'd been tempted to wager a guess before receiving it.

She bent close over the piece of parchment to study it.

.

Marcus Sloan was walking down through one of the rutted alleys towards the village's main thoroughfare when he heard the shouts behind him. His body tensed immediately for a fight, but then he heard the voice—recognized the voice—his body tensed in a whole new way. For a second, he was a boy again, and poised to run from whatever scolding Derek's mother felt suited to rain down on him and is adopted brother. But then he remembered that he was a man, and he turned around to face Lady Carolyn Shepherd calmly.

He met her, just on the lip of the dusty alley, as she was demanding to know what the _hell _he thought he was doing with his life. He smirked, replying politely that he honestly had no idea, but he'd be open to suggestions. The comment did not to go over well with his surrogate mother.

"Why aren't you with your _wife_?" She demanded angrily.

The question made Marcus bristle, and brought back more than one painful memory. "Why…" He swallowed forcefully, wondering, "why would you ask me that?"

"I think you know exactly why I'm asking, Marcus."

The man froze. His entire body—even his heart, for a split-second—froze. It took him all of two seconds to decide that he would murder Derek Shepherd immediately the next time he saw him. How darehe—How _dare _he think that their private conversation from all those weeks ago was now open to other ears? And open to his _mother's _ears, nonetheless? Marcus's hands itched to wrap around his brother's neck. _The bastard._

"What… did he tell you?" He bit out eventually, struggling not to glare at the woman he'd, for years, replaced his mother with. On many levels, she still was his mother. Maybe she always would be.

"What did _who _tell me?" Carolyn demanded. Before Marcus could open his mouth and reply, she continued on. "I've been looking all over for you! I've spent hours—"

"Well, you found me, didn't you?" Marcus interrupted impatiently. "So it must've not been too difficult to locate my whereabouts."

Carolyn ignored his statement. Instead, she stepped closer, and glared up at him with those deep blue eyes—twins to Derek's—that went right through him, just like always. He was suddenly certain—as he was a lot of the time—that she could read his mind enter his soul (what was left of it) just by looking into his eyes.

"What kind of man are you, Marcus?" She held up a hand when he started to speak. "No, don't answer that. I'm not in the mood for your lies or stupid explanations." She took a breath before launching in. "Now," she began crisply, "I am well aware of what went on in your childhood, and so I understand that you may have difficulty forming relationships—" Marcus snorted. '_May have difficulty' _was a gross understatement "—but you should at least know the _basics,_" Carolyn finished fiercely, unfazed by his interruption. "You should know that your life does not only consist of _yourself_ anymore, there's _her_ to take into consideration now." Carolyn pursed her lips, and the movement accentuated and deepened the many lines on her face. "You are going to tell me," she ordered seriously, "You are going to tell me right now: Why haven't you seen your wife in weeks?"

Marcus's eyes widened slightly in shock. _How did she know that? _But he pushed the question aside, rushing to defend himself. "I have been busy with—"

"I understand not speaking to her," Carolyn interrupted, apparently not caring for his answer, "—I barely understand, but I _do_—but not _seeing _her?" Marcus turned away as she began her interrogation, walking quickly, but she and her loud voice followed him step for step. "Not even for a few moments a day, or at night in bed? What are you _thinking_? Are you trying to make her despise you? What in the world is going on in your _thick_ head to make you think abandoning your wife for _weeks _is anywhere _near_ acceptable, you stupid_ CHILD_?!"

Marcus stopped walking, whirling on his heel. "You have no right to speak to me—"

Carolyn's hand flashed out to smack him hard across the face. Her eyes were alight with rage by the time he righted himself again. "You are going to home," she ordered, her voice and face shaking visibly with anger, "and you are going to fix things with her. I don't care if it takes all night, I don't care if it takes a week or a month or a year, you will _not _make that poor girl live any longer in complete misery."

Marcus stared at her, shocked. "She isn't…" He swallowed, suddenly unsure. But still he argued, weakly, "She isn't in… misery."

"And how would you know that, hm?" Carolyn demanded, her hands on her hips. "Have you spoken to her? Have you looked her in the eyes? How long has it been, Mark, since you two had a conversation?"

_You mean how long has it been since I yelled at her to dress herself when she tried to take me to bed, or the last time we carried on a dialogue? The answer's either a few weeks or never._

Lady Carolyn pursed her lips at his refusal to answer. "I see."

Mark clenched his jaw. His skin still stung from where she'd struck him, but he refused to reach up and massage it. "You have no idea what I'm dealing with," he growled. "No idea what I'm going through."

"No, I do not," Carolyn Shepherd agreed. "But I do know what _she _is going through." She stared at her surrogate son, looked him in the eyes to make sure he heard her. "You have a beautiful, lovesick, _lonely _wife waiting for you at home, Marcus. And yet you come here—" She nearly screamed "—to find yourself a whore!"

Marcus' eyes widened, shocked. "I—I'm not—"

"Don't you dare lie to me, Marcus Sloan. Not to my face, not when—"

"I'm not here for a whore!" He shouted back. He lowered his voice a second later, realizing a few passersby were looking at him. He was thankful that only one or two seemed to recognize him—apparently his shirking of his lordly duties had paid off, after all. Still no one knew who he was, even though he'd been here for weeks. And at least those who did know him would never speak up against him.

"I did not come here for a _whore_," he repeated quietly, his voice almost hissing the words. "I came here to escape _her_." He watched as Carolyn Shepherd's mouth opened and then closed, confusion dominating her features. "You want to know why I haven't spoken to her in weeks, why I haven't looked her in the eye? It's because I can't _stand _to. I can't be around her, not for ten minutes, not without wanting to—" He broke off, looking away. He couldn't speak about this. Not now, not here, not with this woman who was the closest, most real mother figure he'd ever had.

But Carolyn pressed him anyway. "What?" She wondered, bewildered. "What do you want to do?" Marcus mumbled something, too low for her to hear. "What?" She pressed.

He stared at her for a moment before murmuring, "It isn't proper."

Carolyn Shepherd couldn't help but laugh. "Since when do you care for propriety, my son?" She chuckled a moment before recognizing the sobriety on his face. She calmed herself and implored, "Please tell me."

Marcus took a deep breath before replying softly, quietly. Carolyn had to strain to hear him. "She's unlike anyone I've ever met or even heard of. She isn't—she can't possibly—be a normal woman. No woman has ever…" He looked away, and pretended for a moment that he wasn't speaking to his mother. He was just speaking to a woman he knew, or speaking to Derek. Yes, he was speaking to Derek. "No woman has ever aroused me the way she does. I've never… I've never wanted someone as I want her, and I do, I want her _constantly_." He swallowed. "But I can't have her. I can't… I can't even look at her. Because one look will just lead to another, and soon enough she'll be bleeding and crying again, just like the first time." He glanced back to Carolyn Shepherd, murmuring, "She's all I ever think about." He stared at her, his clear blue-grey eyes piercing through her shocked ones. "Do you know what I mean, do you understand what I'm saying? Since the moment I met her at Meredith and Derek's wedding… She's never left my mind. Not for one second, not even as I drive myself insane trying to find distractions so I don't… don't take her again like I did that first time." He shut his eyes, but still he had more to get off his chest. He continued. "I couldn't stand it if I hurt her again; I'd kill myself if I did.

"She's so… so perfect, so beautiful, so young and pure and I never…" He squeezed his eyes shut harder, whispering now, "I never wanted to cause her any pain, I swear. But I—I didn't know what I was doing, and I ended up making it so horrible, so terrible for her. I ruined her." He nearly laughed, but the sound was far from humorous given the bite it held. "Derek tried to tell me what to do that day, but I never listened. I expected she'd be the same as everyone else, in that regard, at least, even though I already knew the second I met her that she was somehow different from all the others…" He looked away, and his voice drifted back to Carolyn so quietly that she had to strain to hear him.

"I never wanted to hurt her," he murmured, "but now—whenever I do _anything_—I hurt her. I can't speak to her, I can't see her… Even thinking of her is dangerous." He shook his head slowly. "But I can't help myself. She's all I ever think about; day in, day out. She's… She's it."

Carolyn appraised her son for a long moment before wondering softly, "Are you aware of what you're telling me, Mark?"

Marcus shut his eyes. He knew he shouldn't have been so frank, but he couldn't stop talking once the words started spilling out. He hadn't realized how much he'd been keeping inside all these months. "I apologize," he began quickly, humiliation rising inside him, "I didn't mean to—"

"Don't ever apologize for being in love with your wife, Marcus."

Marcus almost jumped in place at her words. _What…?!_ "I… I hardly know her," he stammered when he could speak again. He licked his lips. "I can't—couldn't possibly…" He trailed off without another word, for he didn't have any idea of what to say.

Carolyn smiled softly at her surrogate son. She remembered watching Derek fall for Meredith; it'd been so different from this. But somehow so similar, too. Neither of them, Mark nor Derek, seemed to have any idea of what was going on. It made her smile now with Mark as it had with Derek so long ago. "There aren't any rules in love, Marcus," she told him softly. She paused. "And why would it matter that you hardly know her?" She continued, so he wouldn't be forced to answer. But secretly she smiled to herself—he seemed to be thinking rather hard about what she'd said. "Go _home_, Mark," Carolyn instructed gently. "Speak with her, please. And—"

Marcus shook his head. "It's too late for that."

Carolyn tilted her head at him, wondering, "Why do you say that?"

_Because the last time I tried talking with her, I ended up shouting and making her cry. And that was three weeks ago; we haven't spoken a syllable to each other since._ He took a breath, replying, "Because it's been too long. Too much has happened. And she doesn't…" He looked away, blinking into the distance. His voice lowered, so soft that Carolyn wasn't even sure she was supposed to hear him. "She doesn't want me like I want her."

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that," Carolyn told him after a moment of silence.

Marcus didn't even seem to hear her. "She thinks I've forgotten about her, abandoned her, and…" He closed his eyes momentarily, and then sighed heavily when he opened them again. "Well, I have, haven't I? I've abandoned her."

"You're not far," Carolyn pointed out, nodding towards the distance where they both knew his home stood, and she inside it. "You can always go home, always try to make things work between you two." She paused, remembering how the girl had admitted to not being able to forget the sight and sound of her husband, even after being without him for almost a month. "Just give her _time, _Marcus," she stressed, looking into his eyes to hold his attention. "She'll come around, but she has to do it at her own pace. Just let her know that you'll be there when she's ready to try again."

Marcus Sloan snorted, unconvinced. "And how do you suggest I go about doing that?"

Carolyn bit back a disgruntled sigh. She had to hold herself in check so she wouldn't hit him again for being so dense. "Simply be kind to her," she instructed. "She'll understand soon enough, and she'll come back to you, she'll be open and ready for you, quicker than you think."

"'Be kind to her'…" Marcus' lip twitched slightly into a smile. "She did say I was kind," he stated after a moment. "Once."

Carolyn smiled, took his arm, and pointed him home. "Let's see if she'll say it again, hm?"

.

The letter was addressed simply, with one word.

_Lexie—_

It was written in a cramped, quick hand. Alexandra had to focus to make out the words, for she'd never encountered this person's writing before and it was so very close to illegible. But once she was able to separate the letters and make out the words, she was soon focusing for a completely different reason, mesmerized by the message behind the words

_I don't want to bother starting this letter by telling you that you're sister's very worried about you—no doubt you already know. I've convinced her for now to stop sending you letters; it's clear that you don't want to speak to her about this matter. I don't blame you._

_I realize that this means you won't want to speak to me either. But please hear me out, just for the length of this letter. Then you can forget about me and we never have to communicate again._

_Meredith has told me what she told you. Don't worry, she simply gave me the basics and I promise I did not press for details and she didn't volunteer them. I just wish she had told me sooner. I'm sure you're well aware by now that your husband hasn't been acting like a husband. I will apologize for him—he can be so horribly dense sometimes—but first I should explain._

_Mark and I have grown up together since we were infants. He's older than me by just a few years, but do not assume that that means he's wiser. If anything, he is stupider, as you may have realized in recent weeks._

_From what I heard in between tears from Meredith, she left you with instructions on how to seduce your husband. I apologize from the very bottom of my heart if he was cruel to you. Though he pretends to, Mark doesn't understand women as well as he thinks he does, and he understands _you_, Alexandra, least of all. I'm sure he had no idea how much his rejection hurt you, whereas I know already that you were crushed. I am under no illusions that you and I have a friendly relationship, Alexandra, but please hear me out and believe me when I offer you my sympathies, insight, and advice._

_He didn't spurn you because he didn't find you attractive, I can promise you that. I swear to the gods, to the king, to the sun and the moon and everything in between. Mark's actually told me on numerous occasions how pleasing he thinks you are to behold, and frankly, he would have to be blind not to find you to be beautiful. He held back for other reasons. I would love to tell you here, love to explain it all on paper, in clear and concise words, but he's my brother and I know I've invaded his personal life much too often on matters like these to be able to do so now with you._

_But I can tell you with this: When he next shows you kindness, if he hasn't already, please don't turn away from him. Please promise me that you will give him a chance. I say 'when' because I know it is not a matter of 'if'—I'm sure he will try to make it up to you, for I know he regrets how he acted towards you that night. (I'm sure he regrets many other nights as well, but you'll have to ask him about that yourself.) Give him a chance when he comes to you looking to reconcile, Alexandra, please. I know he may seem uncomfortable at the time, but that's because he's nervous. You mean so much to him. You have no idea, I'm sure, but you mean _so much _to him. He fears ruining things between you two above anything else, and in his mind—but hopefully not reality—he already has. It will take him some time to realize there is still something to be salvaged from your marriage._

_Again, I must repeat: Give him a chance. If not for me, then for your sister, for yourself. Or for him, if you're feeling especially generous._

_You can call for me if you'd like. Meredith doesn't have to come and Mark doesn't have to know. Write me back and I'll meet you wherever, whenever you like. We don't even have to talk, but I would like to help you in any way possible, if you'd just let me._

It was signed simply, with just one word and no embellishments or titles.

_Derek_

.

It wasn't until Alexandra had reread the letter for the fifth consecutive time that she realized that he called her 'Lexie.' She hadn't even noticed. More surprising was that she didn't even mind after she'd noticed. She even found herself smiling when she read it again.

She wrote only one small note in return, after many hours of contemplation. She actually wrote many, many notes; she wrote hundreds, and scrapped them all. She wrote pages and pages. She nearly wrote a book full of letters. Each and every one was fed to the flames. In the end, all she sent him were three short but heartfelt words.

_Thank you, Derek._

As the watched the bird disappear over the horizon with her note, she realized she should have written more. She should have told him what his letter meant to her, how it made her heart soar for the first time since her wedding day. And it made her have hope—just the smallest inkling, but that was more than anything she'd had in recent months—that maybe things really might change in her marriage. She knew she was stupid for hoping, but maybe, _maybe_, her husband would arrive home tonight before she retired for the evening. Maybe he would look into her eyes and actually see her… Maybe he would remember that he did indeed have a wife waiting for him at home and not just an empty house.

And maybe he would realize what she was only now beginning to understand herself: she missed him so terribly that it hurt.

.

Though he had promised Carolyn Shepherd that he'd head home right away, Marcus whittled away a few more hours down at the village. He wasn't ready to face her, that was the truth—plain and simple. He didn't know what to say, he didn't know what to do… He had no idea if he could even still stand in her presence and speak simultaneously.

The only thing he knew (and this he was sure of) was that he still wanted her.

That had been his only constant through all of this, his anchor to reality. He wanted her. He still wanted her. That reminded him that she was alive, that she was at home, that she was… waiting for him, in a sense.

Marcus closed his eyes. He lifted a hand to his brow, pinching the skin there as he walked to the outskirts of town. He passed by his horse, preferring to walk the whole way home instead. He left instructions with the stable boy to return it to his home at the earliest convenience. He needed time to think tonight, long and hard, and he wouldn't be able to do that in the company of others—even if it really was just a horse.

His head spun as he walked, but once his gait settled into a rhythm, so did his mind. He spent time going over every aspect of his and Carolyn's conversation. He acknowledged again now—like he'd acknowledged at the time—that she was right. That didn't come as a surprise; there was rarely a topic on which Carolyn Shepherd _wasn't _right… Especially when that topic concerned him or Derek. She seemed to have an innate sense with her boys; she always knew exactly what they were thinking, exactly what they wanted.

Marcus's problem was that he didn't know how to _get _what he wanted. After weeks spent apart, he knew it wouldn't be easy (and maybe not even possible) to walk back into their life—the life that should've been _theirs_—and try to claim his rightful place as her husband. He'd neglected his duties in that regard for so long, he'd almost forgotten exactly what they entailed. (Not that he'd ever really known in the first place.)

He wondered if she really was miserable. She never _seemed _miserable… But then again, he only ever saw her when she was sound asleep. She always looked so blissfully peaceful in her sleep. He'd just assumed she looked the same during the daytime, but… If she was feeling the same way he'd been feeling, he wouldn't be surprised to know she was miserable. _He _was miserable. He was tired and sore and bored and hopeless… But he was used to burying his feelings. He'd had plenty of experience doing just that over the years.

As he walked, he tried to think of the best way to first approach her. It couldn't be too much all at once, he knew that. He'd learned over the years that he was prone to extravagance—simply take one look at his home—but that wouldn't work here, especially not on someone like her. She was like to run from an overextended gesture than to embrace it… Especially after what had happened between them last.

Marcus arrived at the castle quicker than he would've thought, and by the time he noticed it looming above him, he realized he was just as answerless now as he had been at the start of this journey. He paused for a moment before the double doors, his eyes running over their tall wooden frames. The two guards were on each side, poised to open them at his command, and after a couple seconds, he nodded and they let him inside. Still, he had no answer. No plan.

The first person he came across showed obvious signs of shock at his arrival. "Y—You're back early, m'lord," the little girl stuttered, curtsying quickly and consequently stumbling through the steps. She bit her lip as she looked up at him. "Is—Is something wrong—" She cut herself off at once, her eye growing wide as she realized how improperly she was addressing him. She looked ready to scamper off, fidgeting in place, but they both knew she couldn't go until he dismissed her.

"Where's my wife?" He inquired of the girl.

The girl's eyes grew even rounder. "She—She w—was in the library, my lord, but…" She swallowed quickly before continuing, "But dinner's going to be set out in a minute, she might be elsewhere…"

He nodded. "I'll check the library," he said, striding past her. "You can go."

.

Alexandra heard a gentle knock on the door. "Come in," she called automatically. She glanced over her shoulder, where the sun used to be streaming in through the tall windows behind her chair. It was almost dusk now; the sun was a large fiery-orange circle as it set in the sky. Time for supper. She marked her space in the book she was reading with a finger, looking up to greet the servant that was calling her tonight.

But it wasn't a servant.

She could feel her heart pound in her chest and her mouth run dry at the figure standing there. She struggled to swallow, to breathe, to think. She opened her mouth to say… something… But there was nothing to say.

She felt like she hadn't seen him in years. She felt like they'd never touched—like every kiss and caress had been imagined, which most of them had, unfortunately. She tried to force all her fantasies that had taken place in this very room to the back of her mind, but it was nearly impossible. They swam before her eyes, taunting and teasing and driving her mad. She couldn't help but hope that he'd rush across the room and pin her to the bookshelves like he had in dreams past.

He looked incredible. Almost too beautiful for her eyes to behold, but she attempted to nonetheless. His hair was an unruly gray mess—she guessed he'd spent a while running his hands through it for one reason or another—and his face was lightly lined with age and worry. He was still just as tall and strong as she remembered him, if not more so in the latter category. Her mouth remained dry as a desert as she looked at him. Suddenly, every day of the last three weeks disappeared in the blink of his clear-blue eyes while they settled on hers. Not for the first time, she thought about those strong arms and legs would look like without clothes to cover them. Her cheeks heated when her mind automatically went to imagining other parts of his body.

.

"I've been informed that dinner is served," he told her quietly, his eyes taking their time to roam over her face. God, she was beautiful. He didn't know he'd survived these last few weeks without seeing her each day. His imaginings were nothing like the real thing; her beauty cut through him now, cut to his core and made him want all those things he'd denied himself since that first night. Before he could get lost any further in thoughts of her, he asked quietly, "Would you… like to come to the dining room with me, my lady?"

She stared at him, and her tongue suddenly seemed too big for her mouth. She didn't have an answer. She didn't have anything to say. In a flash, she remembered Derek's letter. _When he next shows you kindness, if he hasn't already, please don't turn away from him. Please promise me that you will give him a chance._

"Yes." The word escaped her mouth immediately. She felt a fluttering in her chest, and a smile spread across her cheeks not a second later. Derek would be proud of her, she knew. For some reason, that made her smile grow even wider. "Yes, I'd love to."

.

_Author's Note: Thank you all so much for reading. I hope you're all a little bit uplifted by this ending after the last one. :) Please make my entire day and leave me a review. :)_


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16:**

_Dear Guest: Thank you so much for your review! I'm so glad you love Carolyn's part in this story, and even more glad about what you thought of Derek. I loved writing both his and his mother's roles in that chapter. You will definitely see Marcus and Alexandra's relationship grow very, very soon. Thank you so much for reviewing!_

_Author's Note: Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing! I'm so glad you're all feeling happier after that last chapter. This one should continue the trend. :) Please enjoy!_

.

The dinner passed quietly. He questioned her politely about her day, which she had very little to regale him with. She thought better of mentioning Lady Carolyn's visit, and she definitely knew not to mention Derek's letter. The latter she still held too close to her heart—especially now, especially after he'd shown her just the sort of kindness her sister's husband had predicted—and the former, well… Alexandra simply didn't want to face how horrible her demeanor had been to the older woman that day.

"Were you down in the village today, my lord?"

His head snapped up when she asked that, and for a tense moment, she was terrified she had said the wrong thing—that everything they'd built up in the last twenty minutes would be smashed by one ill-placed question on her part. But a second later, he nodded. A moment passed in silence, where he seemed to recall her question and formulate a response, before he answered, "I was."

Alexandra stared down at her plate, pushing her food around and around on the delicate china. So nervous to be in his presence after months of isolation, she could barely eat. Her stomach was roiling, and she knew if she fed it, it would all end up wanting to come back up. She'd forced down a few morsels, knowing she'd regret not eating anything later, but she couldn't do much more than that. Thankfully, he hadn't seemed to notice. Yet. She knew it was only a matter of time. His sharp eyes picked up on anything and everything. She took a breath and asked, while pushing her peas into a pile, "And how was it? Is everything in order?"

Marcus stared at her for a couple seconds before trying to answer. He opened his mouth, but… nothing came out. What was there to say? He knew he couldn't tell her the most important thing that had happened today—the unexpected and rather violent arrival of Lady Carolyn Shepherd—but when he tried to think of what else had happened during the day, he couldn't remember. He knew he'd spent hours with the peasants, discussing trifling matters and doling out menial punishments… And while it had bored him nearly to death at the time, he couldn't remember even a word of it now. It had paled in comparison to what else had happened.

Marcus looked up. His eyes had drifted to his plate while he'd been lost in thought, but now he realized he should've been looking at her. "Everything is…" He searched for the right response as his eyes greedily drank in the sight of her sitting across the table from him. He couldn't believe she was so close; no more than a few feet away… All that separated them was a couple feet of wood. It wasn't much. Part of him began calculating how long it would take him to get up and walk to her side of the table, and if she'd be on her feet by the time he got there. Would she say anything? Or would he be unable to control himself—yet again—and kiss her before she could utter a single syllable?

Visions flashed through his mind. He could see himself shoving the dishes to the side, getting to his feet, reaching across the table… He could see himself taking her there, right on their dining room table, their limbs tangled together and clothes ripped to shreds. His mouth nearly watered at the thought, but he forced himself to exert control. He would not be ruled by his cock—no matter how much it wanted her, no matter how deprived he'd kept it as a result.

He could control himself; he had to. There was no other choice, no other option, no other fate.

"Yes," he answered finally. "Everything's in order."

She gave him the smallest smile, and just by seeing it, he felt like grinning. "Good," she murmured.

Their conversation fell to a lull after that, and not many minutes later, the servers arrived to take both of their barely-touched dishes away to be cleared and washed. Alexandra suddenly felt very guilty for not eating anything, and she watched longingly as the dishes were carried away. What would the poor cook think? Neither of them had taken a bite.

Alexandra was just starting to work up the courage to suggest that they have something else brought out to eat when her husband stood to his feet. She immediately got to hers, as well, trying to ready herself for whatever he might want of her. She could feel her heart beating in her chest. Was he going to order her to bed now? Had he finally realized what they had to do together; finally realized the task they'd been set with to accomplish was non-negotiable?

Even though she knew other women might dread going to bed with their husbands—and that she, by all accounts, should dread it as well—Alexandra couldn't help but feel elation rise in her chest. It flew higher and higher, pushed upward by the thumping beat of her reckless heart. She wondered if he could hear it. She wondered if he knew her excitement overpowered her fear—even after how terribly their last attempt in child-making had gone.

She was suddenly jerked back to reality when he started walking away without leaving a word for her. She was hit by all those old feelings—desperation, fright, anxiety—that she couldn't help but call out, full of nerves still, "Where are you going?"

She wished she hadn't spoken. She could see the way his back stiffened just before he turned. But when he looked to her, his eyes weren't angry. His face was clear of all emotion, to her surprise. "I was going to go for a walk," he replied. He paused—it seemed an infernally long time to Alexandra—before he asked, ever so reluctantly, "would you… like to come?"

.

There wasn't any answer for Alexandra to tell him except, 'Yes.' Even if she hadn't wanted to go, even if she still feared him as strongly as she used to, the answer would always be 'Yes.'

She took a deep breath as they stepped outside for the first time. She filled her lungs with that sweet, fresh, clean air—something she hadn't tasted since she'd arrived here. She stood there, her eyes falling shut, just outside the back doorstep. The exit opened straight up from the dining room, leading out here—to the tall stone staircase, the wide side patio, and then the paths, the grounds, the forests… Going on for miles and miles in every direction.

"It's dark out," she heard him murmur to her, "so be careful on the steps."

Alexandra was momentarily stunned by the expanse that waited in front of her when she opened her eyes again. She'd only travelled up stairs like these once, in the front of the house, on that first night—so long ago now—that she'd nearly forgotten how immense they were. The staircase seemed to go on forever, and then disappear into the gloom as it met the ground. She prayed she'd be able to place her feet correctly on each step—gods forbid she would slip and fall and—

"Do you need help?" He called. She squinted her eyes. She could barely see him down there at ground level from up where she was. She looked around at the darkened grounds surrounding them. The moon just barely lit up the vast expanse, nearly full as it was, so nearly everything around them was shrouded in darkness. She was surprised the sun had fallen beneath the horizon so quickly. She supposed she hadn't realized how much time had passed since she'd first arrived here. It must be the middle or end of autumn by now; the days had grown so much shorter.

"Yes," she found herself calling back. "Please."

He returned to her side in nearly an instant, taking the steps two, sometimes three, at a time. She watched his progress, surprised. She hadn't expected him to be so graceful. But she supposed she'd only ever observed him sitting, standing, and walking. She remembered Meredith and Derek's wedding party suddenly, recalling how he'd sat still through every dance. She'd assumed it was because he was a cut-rate dancer, less than graceful. Maybe it was something else.

She took his arm when he offered it to her, gripping it rather tightly on the descent. She was relieved she'd accepted his help. If she'd tried to descend the innumerable steps alone, she was now certain she would've missed something and then slid to the dirt, bumping her body on every stair she passed on the way down. It would've been humiliating.

Alexandra let out a quick, satisfied breath when her feet hit solid ground again. Her descent complete, she looked out across the expanse. "It's beautiful tonight," she commented, now staring out at the endless lawns and paths from ground level. She glanced up, taking in the moon shining bright in the sky despite the pitch darkness that surrounded it. She smiled at it, realizing it had been a long time since she'd seen the moon so full. Indeed, it had been a long time since she was last outside at night to view it at all. "With the full moon, don't you see?" She pointed to the luminous orb in the sky. "It's beautiful."

"The full moon's tomorrow night," he replied.

She glanced at him, a bit disappointed at his matter-of-fact reply. "Oh," she simply murmured. After a moment, she pivoted slowly, bringing him with her as her hand was still clutching his arm, and they faced the castle together. His home. She took a slow breath, staring up at it, and mentally corrected herself. Her home. _Our _home.

It'd been months, and still that thought wasn't instinct yet. She wondered if it would ever be.

"It's just so big," she murmured, looking up at the building looming before them. Shrouded in darkness as it was, it looked foreign and strange; eerie, almost. "Tonight reminds me of the first time I first came here." Her eyes traced over every windowpane that glinted in the moonlight, zeroed in on every dark corner, and trailed over every bare brick. So much of the castle was still hidden in darkness and mystery as it had been that first night. Alexandra remembered how nervous she'd been then, how scared, but also… how excited.

She felt excited now, too.

She could feel the heat coming from his body beside hers, and sense him as he moved… Her eyes peeked up to his face as they walked away from the castle. Caught under the moonlight as they both were, she found him looking more handsome now than he had during their dinner. The pale moonlight turned his already partially gray hair fully silver; it seemed to almost shine, and matched his eyes. She could stare at him all night if he'd let her.

She wondered what she looked like to him—if he even took the time to look at her like she did him, that was—and if he liked what he saw there. She bit the inside of her lip, turning her head away from his to gaze straight ahead towards the castle again. She didn't know why she did this to herself, why she let thoughts like these surface in her mind. He didn't like her. She knew that. It was a fact and it wasn't changing anytime soon. She shouldn't bother entertaining these little fantasies, but like those days in the library, she just couldn't help herself…

Again, she recalled Derek's letter and hoped to the gods that he wasn't wrong. With everything that had gone well tonight, she supposed he was right on all counts—so far. She licked her lips. The real test would come later, of course, once they went back inside. She wondered what excuse he would use tonight to escape her—for she knew he would use an excuse—so they wouldn't have to go to bed together again. What would he say? That he was tired again? Or had that one been used one time too many?

She tried not to let her mind race, but it was too late. Already, she was imagining situation after situation where he _didn't _excuse himself, where he _didn't _refuse her… Situation after situation where the only outcome, the only clear path, was for the two of them to go to bed together as they had that first time. That incredible, that unbelievable, that _indescribable_ first time.

"I remember," he murmured quietly, breaking through her thoughts. It took Alexandra a moment, but then she realized he was responding to her statement from earlier—he remembered her first night here, too. That made her lips purse in the littlest smile, one she felt the need to conceal even under the cover of dark. She would've bet her life just minutes ago that he'd forgotten about that first night long ago. The realization that he hadn't made her so much happier than it should have, but she didn't care. He remembered.

"It was dark." She took a breath, keeping her eyes on the castle so they wouldn't stray to him. She couldn't let herself get caught up in his eyes again; if she wasn't careful, she'd drown in their silvery-blue depths one of these days. "It was as dark as this, maybe. But—"

"The moon was just a sliver then," he interjected quietly. "It's brighter tonight."

Alexandra nodded, looking around. "I can see the grounds this time." She broke her rule, turning her head to him. She didn't know what made her say it, but when their eyes connected, she whispered, "I can see you, too."

.

Marcus Sloan swallowed, contemplating his options.

This felt like a good time. He felt like he could tell her, like he could follow Carolyn's advice and let her know all that she needed to know. Nothing more than the bare necessities, of course, but enough so that she'd still understand. He could tell her he was here for her, tell her that he was _trying_, tell her that he just couldn't find the words…

His eyes flickered across her face; he was desperate for genius to hit him. He wanted to know what to say and how to say it; he wanted to have that intuition. He bit back a sigh. He suddenly wished he'd talked with Carolyn Shepherd's son instead of the woman herself. As grateful as Marcus was for the insight Lady Carolyn had given him, he knew Derek would've proven invaluable when it came to things like this. He was the man who always knew what to say and when to say it. He had all the answers, but Marcus was always too arrogant, too prideful, too _stupid_ to ask the questions.

Marcus knew the moment was slipping away from him when he saw that light leave her eyes. They dimmed and fell away in seconds, and it made his insides tear. She'd looked up at him expectantly before, but now she was back to hiding behind that crushed look, that wounded look; her brown eyes were like that of an injured doe waiting to be put out of its misery. Marcus hated seeing her like this. He hated knowing that he'd smashed her spirits just by taking too long to answer, or by not answering at all. He hated knowing that the smallest action from him—or non-action—had such a profound effect on her.

Why did she care so much about him—about what he said, what he did…? Of what importance was he, really?

And besides, didn't she know she was the reason he was rendered speechless nearly all the time while in her presence? Didn't she know it was because of her that he was ever unsure of what to say, ever second-guessing each action he performed? Marcus closed his eyes briefly, thinking of the best way to salvage this situation.

"Come," he ordered quietly, leading her away from the castle.

Alexandra didn't bother asking where they were walking. She saw no reason to—how was one spot on the grounds any different from another?—and since she posed no questions, he gave no answers. They walked in silence for a long while. The sounds of her skirts swaying with each step and the crunch of gravel beneath their separate pairs of feet were the only sounds in the night, save for the ambient noises in the grounds.

Some time later—Alexandra couldn't begin to grasp how much time had elapsed once they'd left—his strides beside hers gradually slowed to a halt. Alexandra was pleased for this—her own legs had grown rather tired, having to keep up with his long ones. But she'd barely noticed until now. She smiled to herself in the dark, wondering what it was about this man that made her forget all of her cares, her worries, her pain.

She didn't understand how any one person could be so special.

They were already underneath the trees by the time Alexandra realized where they were. "You have an apple orchard?" She wondered aloud, squinting up at the gnarled branches surrounding her. She hadn't noticed this clump of trees from her windows.

"I have many orchards," he replied. He unhooked his arm from hers in one fluid motion, so quickly and so smoothly that she'd barely noticed he'd left before she spotted him again, up in one of the trees. "Actually," he corrected a moment later, hopping back to the ground, "_we_ have many orchards."

The corner of Alexandra's mouth flickered up at his amendment. Sometimes she forgot that they shared all of this—the castle, the grounds, the forests, the trees…

"Here," he murmured, reaching for her hand and placing something in it. Alexandra clasped it tight in her fingers, curious, before she realized exactly what it had to be. She smiled, bringing the round fruit up to eye level to examine it closer in the darkness.

"Do you have a knife?" She wondered after a moment, glancing over to him.

He smiled, hefting his own apple to his mouth. "Just bite into it," he instructed, showing her. He grinned as he chewed, amused at the shock on her face. After he swallowed, he nodded towards her. "Go on."

She hesitantly lifted the fruit to her mouth, opening her mouth just a fraction, before thinking better of it and quickly pulling away. Her eyes found his. "You must have a knife on you," she nearly pleaded. He sighed, but soon relented, reaching for his waist where a small one was sheathed onto his belt. He held it out to her, keeping the blade between his fingertips so the handle was facing her. When she made a delicate grab for it, he moved it carefully out of her reach. "Take one bite first," he told her. "Then I'll give you the knife."

"No," she replied automatically.

"No?" He repeated, raising his eyebrows skeptically at her blatant, forceful refusal. He grinned at the fact that he could see her blush even in the darkness, but held back the laugh that was bubbling up inside him so he wouldn't embarrass her.

"I—I mean…" Her eyes drifted to the ground and her voice fell to a soft whisper. "I'd really rather not, please, my lord."

He stared at her for a second before eventually giving up. "Hand me that," he ordered, holding his palm out for her apple. She dropped it into his hand quickly, wondering what he was doing. Maybe he'd throw it away because she'd angered him by refusing to do as he'd asked. But when she heard a slicing sound, and looked over to his hands, she found them cutting through the small fruit in thin, equal sections.

"Thank you," she murmured quietly, carefully taking the pieces in her hands when he offered them.

"Can't let you starve."

His commented off-handedly, Alexandra's eyes flew to his nonetheless, surprised. She knew she shouldn't be taken aback that he'd picked up on her lack of an appetite during dinner, but still, she was. She bit on a piece of apple delicately so she wouldn't have to speak. When she'd finished chewing and had swallowed, she murmured, "I just wasn't hungry."

"I heard your stomach rumbling not ten minutes ago."  
She blushed. She had heard it too, though she'd hoped he hadn't. But that wish, like all the others, turned out to be futile. The silence stretched between them for a long minute before she murmured honestly, "I was too nervous to eat at dinner." She didn't need to elaborate. It was so horribly clear what made her nervous. She tried to shut her eyes, but she couldn't part her gaze from his. She felt so stupid. She should never have spoken like that. He would deduce what was left unsaid in seconds, and she didn't want to think about how wrongly he might take that message.

He glanced to her when she said that—and she held his eyes confidently—until he stepped forward. She felt herself involuntarily suck in a breath, and she had to mentally tell her feet not to shuffle backwards. And then a half a minute later—just as she was becoming accustomed to his presence so close—he reached out and touched her. She didn't have time to think, to act, to brace herself… She simply accepted his touch and melted beneath it.

His fingers traced the edge of her cheekbone first, and then followed the line of her jaw down to her chin. Hovering there, he hooked a couple fingers underneath it and lifted her face so he could look at her properly. He ran his thumb lightly over the curve of her small lips as he murmured, "There's no reason for you to be nervous of me, Alexandra."

She thought about responding that there were plenty of reasons for her to be nervous of him. Him standing in front of her made her nervous, him touching her cheek, her lips… Every breath he took while in her presence made her nervous. But she couldn't get the words out, and besides… They didn't matter. She simply nodded, staring up at him in awe.

But he wasn't satisfied with that. His hand was still touching her face, but now he moved his thumb from the center of her lips to the side, allowing her to speak. "Do you understand?" He questioned softly, forever looking deep into her eyes, intent on hearing her answer and seeing the truth of it in those elusive brown orbs. "Do you understand what I'm saying when I tell you not to be nervous of me?"

She nodded again, attempting to swallow her anxiety. "Yes," she found herself whispering. The word escaped her mouth in the smallest breath; she was surprised he even heard it. "Y—Yes, I understand." Involuntarily, she felt herself lean into his touch as she spoke; she felt her neck stretch forward towards him. She was magnetized to him, drawn by some unknown force she could neither fight nor explain. She gave in to it, surrendered…

And was pleased when he stepped even closer. She held her breath as his eyes fell from her own to examine her lips intently. Her mouth fell open, shocked, and suddenly she knew—he would kiss her. She didn't know why she knew but she just _did. _That single thought sent excitement thrumming through her body, uncontrollable, unstoppable excitement. As the message was relayed from her brain to the rest of her body, she felt the tips of her fingers tingle with exhilaration. Her heart was already beating faster. She felt that, if she pushed off just a bit from the ground, she'd float away into the night sky; she was so weightless, so breathless. But she didn't move; she didn't fidget. She would give him no excuse to back away this time.

Alexandra closed her eyes and waited, nervous yet unexplainably excited, for his mouth to cover hers.

.

Marcus watched her intently, his body clenched tight. He could see her lips tremble when she took a shaky breath. He could feel her forehead push against his, feel her move her body closer to his… He could do it, couldn't he? Just one kiss?

He almost smirked. That was what she'd begged him for the last time they'd seen each other, wasn't it? _Just… Just one kiss? _He took a deep breath, marshaling his thoughts together. He needed to focus. He had to focus. …But when his intake of air was filled with her scent and not the fresh, rejuvenating smell of the outdoors, he nearly went wild.

He stepped forward without a thought, pressing his forehead more firmly against hers and letting his lips part. He inhaled. He could taste her scent on his tongue. It was so delicious, so unique—and so pure even still, even after he'd defiled her in the cruelest of ways.

He couldn't stand it. He was seconds away from tugging her into his arms, claiming her mouth, her body—_every last piece of her_—as his. And she _was _his—rightfully, lawfully… In every way that counted and none that mattered, she was his to do with as he liked. There was nothing to stop him. Nothing at all, nothing except—

Marcus shut his eyes, squeezed them tight, and forced himself away from her. He couldn't do it like this. Not here, not now, not tonight. Not while just the scent and sight of her turned him into a madman capable of anything. _But if you can't do it now, when will you ever be able to do it? _part of him asked, sounding a good deal like Derek Shepherd. But Marcus ignored the question. Carolyn Shepherd had told him to be kind to her; how was this kindness? He was torturing her, keeping her constantly on edge like this.

He brought a hand to his brow, turning away from her. He squeezed the skin of his forehead between his thumb and first finger, trying to think quickly. He didn't have to look into her eyes to know she was hurt. He knew already; everything he did hurt her. Every word, every touch, every step. Even when he was trying to protect her, he always ended up hurting her.

He was such a goddamn bastard.

He shut his eyes more firmly, pressing his eyelids together so much so that it actually hurt. He should never have married her. He should have left her alone and found another woman to give him whatever meaningless offspring his mother demanded. No doubt letting Alexandra live out her days in solitude and loneliness as an old maid would have been better than being married to a man like him.

He didn't understand why it was so hard. Why were things so difficult, every minute of every day? Why couldn't he forget about her, even after he'd been absent from her presence for weeks? Marcus's hand fell, and went about pinching the bridge of his nose as realized. It was Derek fault, wasn't it? If he hadn't acted like a love-struck child and married the first girl he took to bed, Marcus was sure he'd have a very different perception of marriage by this point in his life. He didn't know why he expected his marriage to be like Derek's anyway—that was his first mistake. Marriage was not a joyous union, not something to be celebrated or exalted as Meredith and Derek's had been. For once, Marcus was certain his parents had the right of it.

It was servitude, plain and simple. There did not have to be feelings or attachments or anything of that sort. There was just one duty to perform, and like an obedient servant, he would perform it. He had to. Gods… He squeezed his eyes shut harder. He couldn't think about that right now. He couldn't think about it at any time, yes, but right now… No. _The time for that will come_, he told himself, lying even in thought. The time just wasn't right now. It couldn't be. Not now.

"It's okay," he heard her whisper. Her quiet voice shattered through his thoughts, and he whipped around at her words, shocked. What was she saying? What was she _doing_? He wanted to back away when she stepped towards him, but he was frozen in place, devoid of speech. _Just like always._

"It's okay," she repeated. Her large brown eyes found his, and he couldn't for the life of him imagine why she sounded as if she were trying to comfort him. _He _was the one who should be comforting her—especially after what he did… But it wasn't as if she'd ever let him, or that he would ever know what to do to ease her burdens if she had. He _was _her burden.

"W—We don't…" He watched as her tongue darted out to wet her dry lips. They trembled afterwards, trembled as she spoke. "We don't have to do anything… tonight, my lord." Her eyes fell to the ground a second later as she whispered, her voice barely audible, "I… I know you don't… want to."

It took Marcus a few very confused seconds to puzzle out what she was trying to say. When he finally realized—finally understood what she perceived as the truth—he stared at her in absolute shock. What was she talking about? Didn't _want _to? "I…" He couldn't think of a single thing to say. She had completely rendered him speechless—for what might as well have been the five hundredth time since they'd first met. As he was still searching for the words to describe what he was feeling, what he was thinking, she lightly reached forward and hooked her arm around his.

"We should head back," she whispered, tugging on his arm ever so gently as she started back for the castle. Marcus followed after her dumbly, like a docile nag would follow its rider.

The entire walk back was spent in dead silence, save for the crunching of gravel beneath their shoes, and in that silence, Marcus tried to think of something to say. But what was there to say? How could he erase all those lonely weeks—_months_—from her mind? How could he make her forget how horrible he'd been, and show her… What? What was he trying to show her? That he cared? But to what end? He knew if he showed her any kindness, any affection, she'd no doubt write it off as the means to the end of producing a child with her.

His eyes grew unfocused as he thought that. His legs, arms, lungs, and everything else moved mechanically as he thought. He was confused. When had that happened? When had things stopped being about duty and start being about… her? When did he start caring about what _she_ felt, what _she_ thought… Or had he cared all along, and simply hadn't noticed it until now?

Marcus frowned, immediately dismissing whatever conclusion his mind was racing towards. He could hear Carolyn's voice in his head, telling him what he felt, but that was ridiculous. It was beyond ridiculous; it was ludicrous, actually, it mad—_insane_. The only reason he wanted to go to bed with his wife was because she had a good lay once. It wasn't about whatever feelings Carolyn had been preaching to him about; it was about children… In fact, he'd prefer it if it _wasn't_ about children.

But that was the _point_, wasn't it? Children. This was all supposed to be about producing an heir; absolutely nothing less and _certainly_ nothing more. He frowned. What did Carolyn think she was doing, planting madness in his mind the way she had? Did she want to see him unravel just as much as his mother did?

Marcus's eyes snapped back into focus as they began climbing the steps to the back entrance to the castle. He couldn't go inside yet. Going inside meant going to bed—with _her_—and he couldn't do that. Not now. Not while he still had so much to puzzle out.

"I'll let you… retire first," he murmured when they reached the doors.

Alexandra's head turned to his, surprised. What was he talking about? "What…" She licked her lips, unable to hold back her curiosity. "What do you mean, my lord?"

"I'm going to walk some more," he told her quietly. His free hand reached over to cup hers that was still wrapped around his arm. He placed his fingers over hers for just a moment, and then broke their contact. Their hands fell to their sides. "You go to bed," he murmured, looking into her eyes. "I'll return later."

Alexandra bit down hard on her lower lip, but still, she couldn't contain herself. Was he trying to say that he'd join her in bed later, _really _join her? She could feel her heart start up a wild drumbeat in her chest, already delirious with hope. "You'll come back to me?" She whispered, full of awe at the possibility that she might see him again tonight.

Before he knew what he was doing, Marcus nodded, and replied, "Yes." He almost smiled when he saw how brightly her dark eyes lit up. But what else Lady Carolyn Shepherd had told him kept his thoughts dark and his face serious. She didn't really think he was off seeing whores, did she?

"I'm just going for a walk on the grounds," he told her, tilting his head so he could look her full on in the face. Her eyes locked onto his. "I'll return soon, I promise."

She smiled, and it was oddly so bright for what he would've considered a solemn moment. "I believe you."

.

Alexandra didn't know what she was doing.

Nothing would happen between them tonight; she'd said so herself out in the orchard and he'd done nothing to contradict her.

…And yet here she stood, a nightgown draped over her otherwise naked frame, a candle burning on her bedside table, and the smell of roses permeating through the air. She sniffed her wrist, inhaling the scent of the oils she'd had rubbed there… and many other places.

She was being stupid. He didn't want her. A sparse wardrobe and an inviting scent would not change his mind. _She_ was clearly the problem, but there was little to nothing about her appearance that she was able to fix. All she could think of was to cut her hair, but he'd told her before that he liked it long, and she wouldn't dare give up her only advantage on a silly whim.

Those long, dark, wavy locks fell past her shoulders now, cascading down her back and tumbling gently over the small crest of her breasts. She looked down at herself. Was that the problem? Was she too small? She bit her lip. She had no way to remedy that. Her hips were slim—nearly non-existent, unfortunately—and her breasts seemed to follow that trend. She could stuff her bodice with something, or wear tighter corsets, but both of those solutions were merely illusions. He would realize as soon as she was naked beneath him that she was the same as she'd ever been and then…

Then he would pull away just as he had tonight.

She began pacing again, trying to sort things out in her mind. Why had he done that? Why had he eaten dinner with her, gone on a walk with her, and then nearly kissed her if he didn't want it to all lead up to something bigger? Even coming home early today as he had; that was a sign, wasn't it? Why did he touch her the way he had, why did he bend down as if to kiss her… if he was not planning on doing much and more to her tonight?

She shook her head, pushing those thoughts away as her feet moved quicker and quicker across the floor. _He doesn't want you._ She had to memorize those words, had to ingrain them in her mind so they would never leave. _He doesn't want you_. That was the only way she'd believe them, and once she believed them she could finally stamp out all her girlish hopes and wishes.

Alexandra knew she should be grateful. He'd shown her so much kindness tonight, so much compassion and gentility… And then she had gone and tried to start something by forcing him to kiss her. She supposed it was good that he'd stepped away when he had. At least he hadn't tried to lead her astray. She almost smiled. She could count on him for that, she supposed: being brutally honest. He didn't want her and he made it clear. At least he didn't serve her with false hope. Hope was worse than anything.

She was just in the middle of crossing the room again when she heard the door open. She turned immediately; first her head whipped around and then the rest of her body. She stared at him in shock. Her eyes trailed up and down him, all over… But still, she could barely believe it. He was here, dressed in his nightclothes, ready to go to bed with her. She blinked, thinking this must be another one of her ridiculous fantasies. But then she realized. Alexandra felt her eyes nearly prick with tears at the sight of him, at what it all meant, and before she knew what she was doing, she'd closed the distance between them and hugged him tight.

She wrapped her arms around his back, pressed her front right up against his, and buried her face into his neck. For a moment, as she was surrounded by him, Alexandra forgot what had happened the last time they had been alone together in this room. She forgot how he'd yelled, forgot how she'd cried, forgot _everything_… And simply remembered what had happened tonight.

_Thank you, _she thought but couldn't bring herself to say. _Thank you for coming back._

It wasn't until this moment that she realized she hadn't had complete confidence in his promise to return. She buried her back in the crook of his shoulder and silently begged for forgiveness. She vowed tonight that she would stop doubting him, stop second-guessing him, stop questioning him in any way, shape, or form. There was no reason for her to do any of those things in the first place. He was her husband she was supposed to have complete faith in him at all times, to support him in every decision, no matter if she agreed or not. That's what a good, loyal wife would do.

What kind of wife was she?

Alexandra bit her lip, and tucked her face deeper into the junction of his neck and shoulder for comfort as she sent her silent apologies. She wondered if he knew what he meant to her. She wondered if he had any idea. Just the simple acts of eating dinner with her and being in the same room with her when she went to sleep nearly had her in tears. She'd like to be able to blame her excess emotion on her monthly blood, but that had already come and passed during his absence. She supposed she was just being a weak, emotional woman, but in this moment in time, she didn't care. She didn't care about anything except the fact that she was holding him and he wasn't pushing her away.

Yet.

His hands were just moving to circle around her small body, to hug her back—when she moved away. Thinking it better to step back before he forced her back, she did so without a word. She sniffed quietly to compose herself and then flashed a quick smile in his general direction before moving away to give him his space. She thought she should apologize for being so forward—especially after she'd promised that nothing had to happen between them tonight—but she didn't know what to say. She tucked that silent apology in with the others, and then she walked around to her side of the bed and quietly got under the covers.

She watched him from her space beneath the blankets, her heart hammering in her chest. He stood stock-still for a few seconds—right where she'd left him—before he seemed to snap back to reality. He did the same as her, then, quietly walking to his side of the bed and taking up his designated space beneath the sheets. After he had situated himself in bed, they both blinking at each other, realizing that they'd inadvertently ended up facing one another.

Alexandra tried not to think about the fact that if she spread out her arm or leg far enough under the covers, just a foot or two, she'd be able to touch him. It was dark in the room—just the glow from her worn purple candle illuminated their surroundings—and she could barely see him. She resisted the urge to move closer, to see him in greater detail…

He cleared his throat suddenly, and it nearly made her jump. "You'll… sleep well… I hope."

"With you here, I will." The words escaped her mouth without her even really meaning to say them. She'd thought them—and then suddenly, they were pouring out from between her lips. Her eyes widened, fearful of what he'd think or say or do, but she couldn't look away from him.

.

Her words threw him completely back. He stared at her, dumbstruck, for a long moment before realizing that his lips had curved into a smile involuntarily. He suddenly felt the urge to kiss her like he had out on the grounds. To draw her into his arms, to pull her close, to lower his lips to hers, and then…

_I want you, _he almost told her. The words were on the tip of his tongue; they were tormenting his mind and burning through his chest. It nearly hurt to hold them in, and with each day that passed, Marcus knew he was getting closer and closer to giving in. The words were threatening to burst out from between his lips even without his leave, and one day he knew, that if he didn't watch himself as he knew he had to, they would. _I want you so badly. All of the time, I want you. Every second of every day._

He blinked. He couldn't think like that now.

_No, not now, _part of him realized, _but perhaps soon. _His thoughts grew light, tinged with the awe and hope he hadn't felt in months._ Maybe… soon._

He found her eyes and stared into them for a moment before returning, "So will I," to her original statement. He saw her dark brown eyes brighten at that, and he stared into them until they dimmed, flickered shut, and eventually fell closed. He followed her into sleep not long after, more satisfied yet more conflicted than he'd felt in months.

He fell unconscious with hope in his heart.

It was an unfamiliar and yet oddly comforting feeling.

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_Author's Note: I hope you liked this chapter, even though it may have been rather unfulfilling. I promise the ball will start rolling soon enough. Please leave me a review below with your thoughts, if you'd be so kind. I'm going to update as soon as I can. :)_


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17:**

_Author's Note: Thank you all SO much for your reviews on the last chapter! I'm so happy you're all getting hopeful again. Please enjoy this chapter. We're getting closer and closer, people… :D_

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He watched her sleep as he dressed himself.

The sun was rising in the sky, whereas it had been dark when he'd awoken, but still all he'd managed to put on in the last hour of his being ambulatory was a light shirt and pants. The latter was laced, but the former still hung open; his hands hesitated at the hem, and were still hesitating, as if they couldn't quite remember how to perform this everyday task.

His eyes roamed over her sleeping frame as she lay asleep in their bed. He pressed his lips together, running his eyes over her thinly-clothed body. It was not a sight that was unfamiliar to him. Every morning for the last month, he'd woken like this—early enough to spend a few minutes watching her sleep peacefully before he retreated to his many hiding places. He blinked as he stared at her, suddenly wondering what she did during all those mornings.

Was there ever a one that had passed where she expected to open her eyes and find him lying next to her?

He pressed his lips together. It was tempting. So tempting. He could slip out of his shirt, tear off his pants, and climb back into bed with her. He could be there when she woke; he could watch her eyes grow wide in surprise and then light up in familiarity. And then he could reach over, running a hand over her cheek just as he had last night, and lean forward to kiss her. _Actually _kiss her this time. Their lips would meet and fuse and then never break, if Marcus Sloan had anything to say about it.

And that was exactly the problem.

He had everything to say about it, everything to demand… and yet he couldn't. He just _couldn't._ She was still such a little girl, such a child, and he couldn't dare think of her as anything else. He _wouldn't_. He'd harmed her once, and he'd come closer to doing it a second time last night… He would _not _do it again, not while she still hated him, still feared him, still wanted nothing to do with him. Not while the only reason she wanted to take him to bed was because she obligated to. She was _forcing _herself to want him.

He closed his eyes, unable to look at her any longer. He didn't want to think about how hard this was for her. He couldn't imagine being in her place—continually having to give herself in _that way_—to a man she feared and loathed. He wouldn't make her do it. Even if it killed him, he'd never force her, never. They would just have to find other ways to be husband and wife.

_Yes, other ways, ones don't involve the marriage bed, pregnancies, or children…_ Marcus shut his eyes tighter, pressing them firmly together. _Children. _They were something he couldn't waste a moment thinking on. All those thoughts amounted to nothing, anyway… They couldn't create children without first going to bed together, and that was anything but a possibility at this moment in time.

Marcus shook his head, clearing his mind, and returned to buttoning up his clothes. In under a minute, he was fully dressed, out the bedroom door, and heading towards the back exit to the castle.

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The first thing Alexandra thought when she woke up was that she would finally see her husband lying on the sheets next to her—for the first time _ever_. She felt a smile curl up her lips before she'd even opened her eyes—just thinking of him made her smile, and thinking of him lying in bed with her made her grin like a madwoman. She didn't care, though. She felt what she felt, and she'd realized recently that there was no way to stop it, no way to help it.

She tried not to feel completely crushed when she woke up and found empty sheets waiting for her.

She ignored the tears that were pricking her eyes, opting instead to get up, get out of bed, and ring for her maids. They arrived at once, and dressed her, taking much longer than usual, in an oddly vibrant gown. Alexandra sighed after she'd been readied, barely caring for the reason they'd spent so much time on her appearance. Didn't they know today was just like all the rest? It didn't matter what she looked like. He was already gone. She closed her eyes, sinking onto the small settee at the end of their bed.

Her maids gave her a few moments to herself before Dorthea asked politely, "Would you like to come to breakfast, my lady?"

Alexandra lifted her head, looking up at the older woman. She bit back a tired sigh. "I'd rather have it in here, actually," she murmured quietly. She didn't want to sit at that big table alone anymore. It wasn't that she didn't want to be alone now that he was gone—she did—but she'd prefer to be alone in private, where no one could see and no one could talk. She didn't want to face all those empty chairs, either, knowing none of them would ever be filled.

Already, she could feel herself slipping back into the persona of that ghost she'd been before he came home. _But he's gone now, _she thought to herself bitterly. _What difference does it make if I'm dead or alive? I have no purpose to serve without him here._ She thought of last night, thought of the almost kiss, thought of the way they'd gone to bed without fulfilling their marital duties… again. _Apparently I serve no purpose even when he's here to use me, _she amended sadly. She looked up to Dorthea again, hoping at least that the woman would find something nice and hot to bring her.

"Are you sure, m'lady?" Little Grace's voice broke through her melancholy thoughts, and nearly made her smile.

Alexandra indulged her with half of the returning warm gesture. "I don't particularly feel like eating alone this morning," she told the young girl, surprising even herself with her honesty.

She felt betrayed when the child's face broke into a huge grin. "But you won't have to eat alone," she protested before Dorthea could stop her. "Lord Sloan's waiting for you in the dining room; he said—"

Alexandra's ears perked at that, and she got immediately to her feet. "He's what?" She breathed, not even able to believe it. He was here, waiting for her, and—how had she wasted all this time dressing and moping? "He's—"

"—waiting for you, my lady," Dorthea interjected calmly with a secret smile. Her eyes flickered to the door before they returned to Alexandra's. "Would you like to come to breakfast?" She asked again.

Alexandra's eyes flew to the door, and she wanted to run to the room, wanted to run to _him…_ But she froze. She looked down at herself, reached up to touch her hair pinned around her scalp, confused and desperate. "Is…" She swallowed, her nerves eating her words and cool head. In the end, all she could think of to ask was, "Is this dress… Is it a good color?"

Dorthea's face broke into a wide smile before she managed to control herself. When she had, she murmured softly, "It's a wonderful color, my lady."

Grace was much less professional. "He'll love it," she exclaimed giddily, nearly clapping her hands together in excitement. "I picked the perfect color, I promise!" Alexandra couldn't help but smile at the child's enthusiasm, even as Dorthea worked to quell it to respectful level.

She smiled at the girl as her mentor led them from the room. "Thank you, my dear," she murmured, clasping the child's hand in hers. "I knew I could always count on you."

The little maid stuttered through a reply, her pale green eyes magnified with the water gathering in them. Alexandra smiled warmly at her, taking a moment to lean down and kiss the girl's forehead quickly. "Thank you," she whispered again, meaning those two words more seriously than she'd ever meant anything else since she'd arrived in her new home.

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The breakfast passed much like their dinner had: quietly. Alexandra had been so elated at the start of the meal that she'd barely noticed his silence, and talked enough for both of them. If someone had asked her afterwards all that she said, though, she would've have been able to reproduce a single word. All of it was lost from her mind the moment it was said, but she didn't care.

Part of her knew he didn't care, either. But she kept talking just for those rare moments—when his blue eyes would meet hers, when his lips would turn up in the smallest smile… She couldn't control herself in those moments. For every tiny smile he gave her, she returned in kind—only a million times stronger. She was still riding the relief and happiness she'd discovered when Grace had told her of his intentions this morning, and it didn't seem to be going away any time soon. She hadn't felt this good in a long, _long _time.

Even through her elation, Alexandra knew she was talking too much. She knew that. But she couldn't stay silent. She knew if she stopped talking, it would only be up to him to carry on the conversation… and she knew he wouldn't. So it was up to her to keep things going, keep things moving, and hope for the best so long as she got that momentary, flickering encouragement from him. She was building herself up on such fragile hopes, but she didn't care. This was the second day in a row she'd seen him, the second day she'd been graced with his presence after spending countless hours utterly alone. She would cherish every second of it, every little moment, because she never knew when things would revert back to the way they were before.

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Marcus Sloan watched her intently through their entire meal, but he couldn't do much more than that. He was glad of her running mouth—he knew he couldn't handle any more of those unbearable, awkward silences. Instead of attempting to interrupt, he simply sat back and listened, watched, and smiled as she went off on a tangent over one thing or another.

Her loquaciousness surpassed any and all of his expectations. He'd never met a woman who talked as much as she did. And to look at her—to know her as much as he knew her, which was admittedly very little, but still—he never would have expected that she was so talkative. She'd always been so quiet and demure—a perfect little wife on the surface—and yet here she was baring some of what was underneath that front. After a time, he couldn't help but just grin at her. She was gesticulating now, describing her older sister Meredith, and mimicking a high-pitched voice to play the blonde's part.

_"Der-ek!"_

Marcus grinned at his wife's imitations of her older sister. He'd spent little time with his new sister-in-law, but from what he could tell, she'd gotten the blonde spot-on. He'd never exactly thought about their relationship—his wife's and his sister's—but he figured now that they had to be rather closer for her to know the woman so well.

Their dishes were being cleared away when he realized he didn't want the meal to end. He wanted to keep hearing her talk, he wanted to talk _with _her. He wanted to learn more about her. Who she was, who she'd been, who she wanted to be…

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"Would you like to go for a walk?"

Alexandra nearly jumped at the question as she got to her feet. "W…Would I…" She trailed off, licking her lips as she debated answering. Her first reaction was to say that, Yes, of course she wanted to go. Thoughts of unfinished kisses flickered through her mind. But then she remembered how he'd gone on his own walk after she'd left last night. No doubt he'd wanted the first endeavor to be a solitary one—and she'd gone and intruded. She would give him his privacy this morning; she wouldn't force her company on him if he didn't want her. "N—No, my lord." She hurried a smile onto her lips. "I'm fine here, thank you."

A frown flickered across his face, but before she could rescind her refusal—and accept enthusiastically, as she'd really wanted to—he had already turned and left. She spent a good many minutes watching him go, and wishing she had the courage to call him back.

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Marcus tried to walk away without looking back at her, but it was impossible. It was truly impossible.

Each time he looked over his shoulder to catch sight of her, he was driven mad with the urge to run back to her side. Driven to take her to bed, to the couch, to the floor, the wall—_anywhere_—and show her that he wasn't as dangerous as even he feared himself to be.

Lady Carolyn's words infiltrated his mind again; that seed she'd planted in his mind they day they'd last met only seemed to have grown and multiplied; it had begun sprouting weeds and he was no longer sure he'd be able to pull them out. _Be kind to her._

Well, he'd tried. He'd been as kind to her as he could manage without getting too close and losing control… But she'd refused him. What was that about her open and ready for him? She was anything but. She'd been warm and conversational over breakfast, but then when he tried for something more, she had backed off automatically.

Marcus frowned. He wondered if it was because of what had happened last night. He took a deep breath, sorting through all that had happened between them just mere hours ago as they travelled this very same path together. Did she really think he didn't want to spend time with her, didn't _want _her?

Marcus shook his head. No. She couldn't think that. It was impossible. Wasn't the want he felt for her clear on his face for her to see? For _all _to see? Wasn't he branded as hers? He felt as if he was most days.

Marcus sighed, running a rough hand through his hair. What was wrong with him? And why couldn't he do any of this even remotely right?

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After her husband left, Alexandra retreated to her hideaway in the library, not knowing what else to do or where else to go. Though she pulled a good many books off the shelves, none of them held her interest. She found her mind was always wandering, always drifting back to him no matter how frequently she tried to redirect it.

She shouldn't have turned him down.

She'd regretted it the moment she'd seen that frown on his face, but by then the damage was already done and the decision was already made. She'd had no way to fix things, no way to right her wrongs… And so she was left to watch him walk away as she stood alone at the window. She tried to tell herself that, despite how poorly the situation had already worked out, it was a step in the right direction. It had to be, didn't it? He didn't see her or speak to her for months, and suddenly one day goes by and they're sleeping in the same bed, and eating breakfast together, and going for walks?

The rapid changes in their relationship of late happened to make her head spin when she thought about them, so she as grateful that she was already sitting down. She turned away from the window she'd been looking out—he'd disappeared into the woods long ago, anyway—and returned her attention to the shelves around her. Immediately, she felt her body heat and her fingers tingle. Why did she keep coming here? It was torture, having to sit in here alone and be plagued by fantasies, by what-ifs and could-have-beens. She hated questioning the past, but it seemed to be all she was capable of doing when it came to him.

The future was much too cloudy to try to ascertain.

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Marcus didn't feel like seeing anymore today.

He hadn't wanted to go on a walk, either, but there was no way he could pretend to want to stay inside after she'd turned him down. Plus, she would be inside. And he was suddenly very unsure that she wanted to spend any time with him. He wanted to spend all the time in the world with _her_… but that, of course, was beside the point.

He listened to the leaves and twigs crunch beneath his feet as he walked. He could hear the birds in the trees and he listened to the animals scatter as he made his way through the woods. They were peaceful sounds, nice sounds… But nothing like listening to her voice.

Again, he went over what happened this morning in his head, and tried to decipher when things had went wrong. She'd been so open, so happy, so unlike herself—or perhaps _more _like herself—this morning. She'd been a different person, a lively person… But then the second he wondered if she wanted to go somewhere with him, all of that cheer fell away, and she backed off like she used to.

Maybe it was because she didn't want to leave the house. Whenever he'd looked over his shoulder as he'd walked away, she was always been at the window, watching him. And last night, she'd been nervous even to descend the stairs. He thought it was because she was afraid of slipping in the dark, but maybe it was another reason…

He closed his eyes, stopping in his walk and taking a large breath as he hung his head. Of course. Why hadn't he realized it sooner? It was the only answer that made any sense. He should've seen it from the start.

She didn't want to be alone with him.

And who was he to blame her? That's exactly what he'd spent these last few months trying to avoid—spending time alone with her. He knew if they were alone in any room for any length of time, things would quickly get out of hand. He still could barely believe his self-restraint last night. He'd impressed even himself, and it made him smile now.

But that smile quickly turned to a frown.

If she didn't want to spend time with him, what was he supposed to do? Everything he'd spoken about with Derek, with Carolyn… Did it suddenly mean nothing now? Did he have to stop feeling… whatever it was that he was for her? He wasn't sure that was possible… And he had a feeling that even if it was possible, part of him might write it off as _im_possible.

He sighed to himself, heading deeper into the woods. It would take him all day to sort all of this out. Half of his mouth turned up in a smile a second later. "At least I have all day," he muttered to the trees.

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Alexandra would like to have been able to say that she'd spent the afternoon with her mind buried in the books… But that was so far from the truth. Even if there was tome in her hand, even if she was turning the pages, she was not retaining anything. Her mind was filled with him; it was always filled with him.

It was only as the sun began to set and the room darkened that she realized she hadn't seen anyone today, not since breakfast. No one had come in to check on her as they did daily. Grace didn't stop in with a meaningless concern, just wanting an excuse to speak with her. Dorthea never wondered if she wanted something to drink, or something to eat.

And no one had called her for dinner, which must've passed hours ago now.

Alexandra closed the book that was lounging in her hands, taking it back to the shelf and putting it into its place. She listened, moving closer to the door, but there were no sounds from without. All she could hear were the sounds she herself was making—her dress rustling, her shoes clicking, her breath going in and out. She frowned, holding herself still for a moment, even holding in her breath… There was still nothing to be heard.

She opened the library door and stepped out into the hall, but none of the servants greeted her. Grace didn't rush to her side. And she couldn't hear any of the pots or pans banging, nor shouts from the cook wafting up from downstairs. She tilted her head to the side as she walked past the other rooms in the hallway, craning her neck to look in. But there wasn't anyone in any of the rooms.

There wasn't anyone anywhere in the entire house.

Alexandra frowned, making her way to her bedroom. Maybe that where all the servants were congregated, she told herself. Maybe I'll find them there. _Or, at the very least, Grace and Dorthea._ When she pushed open the door to their bedroom, though, and cast her eye around, it was neither of her handmaidens that her eyes fell upon. Her pupils went wide at once, accentuating the already large size of her brown eyes, as they detected him, sitting just mere feet form her. She hadn't expected him to be here. She hadn't expected him to be _anywhere_. She swallowed, struggling to open her mouth and excuse herself. _What was he doing here_?

"Oh, please," she whispered quickly, backing away, "pardon me, my lord, I did not mean to intrude."

"You're not intruding." He set down the quill in his hand, turning his attention from the parchment he had been writing on to pay attention to her. "May I help you with something?" He eyed her for a moment from his chair before the small wooden desk. "You look like you're searching for something, my lady," he pointed out when she didn't immediately reply.

Alexandra smiled on reflex, embarrassed. She glanced to the floor as she replied, "The—The servants, actually, they're what I'm looking for." Her eyes swung around the room once more, and then nodded back towards the door she'd entered through. "I haven't seen them in the entire house. Not even belowstairs."

Marcus refrained from asking her what she was doing downstairs. Instead, he merely smiled at her, wondering, "Do you remember what I said about the moon last night?"

Alexandra's eyebrows pulled together, confused. She did remember, yes, but she didn't see the importance of it. _Why does it matter if the moon's full or not? _She wondered. She didn't think the servants got off every full moon. Nevertheless, she replied, "You said tonight would be the full moon."

"And it is."

Alexandra stared at him, waiting for him to continue. He didn't. "I… Excuse me," she smiled nervously, "but I don't understand how that factors in to whether or not the servants are here. They've never gotten off on a full moon before now." _At least not to my knowledge, but then again, what do I know?_

He stared at her for a moment as if he thought she was lying for some reason. After a confused couple of seconds, he replied, "It's the Harvest Festival tonight. It happens on every full moon around this time of year down in the village."

"The Harvest…" Alexandra trailed off, not following. She shook her head, still confused as to how the two happenstances intersected. "I don't understand why that means there are no servants here," she finished finally.

"They aren't here because I give them leave every year," Marcus replied patiently. A smile tugged at his lips. "I can spare a night without my retinue of maids and cupbearers by now, I should think."

"But…" Alexandra trailed off, unsure of what to say.

"Do you want me to bring them back?" He asked, suddenly looking uncertain. "Because—"

"No," she waved a hand. "No, that's not necessary, my lord. I just… I never realized there were festivals here."

"Didn't you have them in your village?"

"Around the new year," she replied, thinking back. It felt like forever since she'd been home. She forced herself not to focus on her father, or Laura. Gods, she missed them. "And there were other celebrations." She paused, gathering herself. "I suppose there weren't enough farmers nearby to warrant such a thing." Alexandra smiled to herself after a moment, just thinking of the idea of such a festival in her village. Laura would've loved it. She bit her lip and kept smiling so she wouldn't cry. She wished Laura could be here, could visit the festival here. She knew her sister would call it great fun, and then throw a tantrum when her father decreed it was time to go home. He'd had a hard enough time ordering her to bed after Meredith and Derek's wedding.

Marcus stared at her as she spoke, watching as a small smile tipped up the edges of her lips after she finished talking. "What?" He wondered. "Why're you smiling?"

She shook her head, not wanting to mention her sister. "It's nothing, my lord." Even as she tried to throw him off, she felt her smile widen.

He held back a grin when he saw her cheeks begin to color, just ever so slightly. "It's obviously something," he pointed out, nodding towards her face.

She shut her eyes, lifting her hand to cover her smile and cheeks, one with four fingers and the other with just her thumb. She mumbled something he couldn't hear, but before he could ask what it was, she explained, "It's just that… it sounds, that festival, it sounds… fun."

"Fun?" He repeated blankly, as if he'd never heard the word before and was only now trying to grasp its meaning. She struggled not to laugh. She wouldn't be surprised if that was the case.

"Yes, fun," she answered, taking on a tutor's enlightening tone. "You know, enjoyable. Amusing. Entertaining."

"I know what the word means," he replied at once, smirking just the tiniest bit even through his sharp tone. He glanced at her for a second before wondering, "Is this your way of saying… that you'd like to go?"

Alexandra's eyes widened, surprised that he'd even offer. "N—No," she replied automatically, not wanting to impose. "I was simply saying…"

"…that you'd like to go," he finished for her, smirking again when he saw her lips turn up into the smallest smile. He stood up. He was halfway out the door when he realized she wasn't following. He waved a hand. "Well, come on, then."

"N—Now?" Alexandra stuttered, surprised. "We don't need to go n—"

"If we _don't_ go now," he interrupted patiently, "then we'll never make it there in time. It started hours ago."

"But we can't…" Alexandra looked down at her dress. The jewels sewed into the fabric shimmered even in the dim light. It made the entire dress look like something out of a fairytale; certainly something that far from appropriate for a common country get-together. "I can't go like this," she told him, a tinge of sadness in her voice at the realization that there was no one around to help her change. And she really had wanted to go. "It's too much for such an event."

He stared at her, his forehead slightly lined. "Are you incapable of changing?" He wondered bluntly. He saw her eyes widen just slightly.

Alexandra swallowed, struggling not to come across as nervous as she felt. "Not… Not without… help." She whispered the last word, barely wanting to voice it. She felt that humiliation wash over her, and fright grip her belly at the thought of being unclothed before him again. But there was something else there too, something that made her stomach clench with another feeling, made heat wash over her… She could feel that hot anticipation rise in her body like it had just twenty-four hours prior.

He seemed to see something disheartening in her eyes, though, for after a moment, he murmured, "Or we can stay here for the night…" He hated how dejected he sounded, even to his own ears. What did he care?

"No." She shook her head. She couldn't stay here another night, couldn't stay locked in this house alone, especially with just him and her here. She'd go mad; her mind would take her over and then— "I… I'd like to go." She paused, biting her lip, before admitting. "I… I will need some help, though, with the back of the dress… Grace and Dorthea aren't here and I…"

He seemed to understand what she was reticent to say, for he asked gently, "Would you like me to help you?"

She nodded, her mouth now dry. "I—I would, please. But…" She sucked her lower lip into her mouth and chewed on the soft flesh for a moment. "Could you give me a moment, please?" She asked. "I have to pick something else to wear from my boudoir."

He nodded, stepping back and pulling the door closed with him. "Of course. Knock when you're ready."

She nodded, trying to respond, but before she could, he'd shut the door between them. Alexandra stared at it, trying not to let her mind wander… But it was impossible. Already, she was so reminded of their wedding night. The separation, the undressing, the joining… She took a deep breath.

_He's simply taking off my clothes and putting other ones on. That's it. Nothing more._

Alexandra knew she would be lying to herself if she thought that she didn't want him to do more than that. She shut her eyes, forcing measured breaths. Gods, she wanted him to do so much more than that.

.

Marcus loitered in the hallway for nearly five minutes, listening to her move back and forth inside their bedroom. He couldn't help but wonder what she was doing. He _knew _what she was doing, of course, but he felt antsy being separated from her like this. With the door between them, and the anticipation building, he couldn't help but recall their wedding night so long ago. He clenched his teeth together to try to control himself. It seemed like just the mere thought of her made him hard these days.

As the minutes passed and she still hadn't knocked, Marcus began pacing. He almost smiled to himself, remembering how he'd done just that, too, before they'd gone to bed together that first time.

That only time.

Marcus laced his fingers behind his head angrily, straining his muscles. How had it only been once? How had they only fucked _once_ and already he was nearly dying just to get a glimpse of her? He couldn't believe what his life had become over these past few months. He'd become addicted to her, yes, but it was the cruelest of addictions—there was no high, only one sustained, never-ending low.

He jumped when he heard her soft knock on the door. He cleared his mind at once, and quickly strode to the door. Pushing it open, he looked around, and found her standing next to the bed. He forced away feelings of déjà vu, feelings that he'd been here before, been with her like this before…

She was fully clothed still, and yet… He could see her in her undergarments in his mind. He could see her naked. He could feel her body clenching beneath him, feel her breasts pressed up against his chest… He closed his eyes. Gods, how he wanted her. He'd do anything to have her—anything and everything and… nothing.

.

"I laid it out on… on the bed," she whispered, watching as his blue eyes flickered open. She nodded towards the simple brown dress spread out above the covers, so he would know what she was speaking of.

He didn't even glance at the dress. She tried not to tremble underneath his intense, unwavering stare. She felt like his gaze was reading her mind; she hated to think about what he saw there. All her imaginings of him…

She turned around at once, offering her back to him so she wouldn't be forced to look into his eyes any longer. She couldn't take much more of this. "Just…" She forced in a breath. "Back there," she whispered, gesturing to the trail of miniscule fabric clasps running up the curve of her spine. "I can't reach them myself. If you could undo them…" Her voice trailed off when she felt him come up behind her.

She held her breath. He was so close. When he spoke quietly, just to the right of her right ear, she nearly jumped. "May I move your hair to the side?"

Alexandra's heart was in her throat, drumming out a rapid beat and rendering her incapable of speech. She nodded instead. She licked her lips, though they needed no moisturizing, shivered when he brushed her hair over her shoulder, and wondered why his presence was affecting her so. _Maybe because he hasn't been within a five-mile radius of me in days, except when I'm asleep, _she snapped at herself. Her harsh thought surprised her; she hadn't realized how bitter she still was, at least part of her.

He had gotten through about eight sets of those clasps when she realized something was different. His hands had been efficient and impersonal before, but now they were slowing down. They were stroking and caressing her skin every change they got, and soon they seemed to only keep undoing the clasps—ever so slowly—to keep up the pretense that they'd started with. It wasn't until he'd gotten to the last row, just above the small of her back, that his hands abandoned that weak, outdated pretense all together.

His fingers spread from the bottom of her spine across the expanse of her back. The curves of her sides fit the palms of his hands perfectly, but they didn't stop there, and she was glad for their continuation. His hands rose slowly, cupping her skin more firmly as they ascended, and eventually migrated to her front. They spread flat over her stomach, trapped tight between her skin and the tight front of her dress, and then moved upwards. She let out something between a gasp and a moan when his hands cupped her breasts, pushing the bodice away. He fingers and thumbs ran over her nipples tantalizingly, driving her high-strung body wild with sinful want as his lips bent down to suck on her neck.

She was about to let out a moan for more—_please, _more—but then his touch disappeared. His lips vanished. Her eyes shot open and she looked down—but his hands were gone. Her dress was still in place. It hung a bit looser than usual… but it wasn't ravaged apart like it had been when his hands were on her. His hands…

She closed her eyes, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks in humiliation even as her body screamed for continuation. He hadn't touched her, she quickly realized—not once. She'd imagined it, just like she'd imagined every moment between them. Nonetheless, Alexandra looked behind her, as if hoping to see that his hands were, in fact, roaming over her body… But all she discovered was that he was nearing the end of his task. Their eyes met for a moment as she turned to look at him, and in that one second—charged with fire and excitement—she realized there was potential for her fantasy to become reality. She swallowed, blinking quickly as she stared at him. She licked her lips, trying to think of something to say, but words escaped her.

She saw that he, too, seemed to be struggling for words. Eventually, he asked her, "Did I… do something wrong?"

She shook her head. _No, _she thought. _You did nothing wrong_. Without a word, though she faced forward again. When he finished, he stepped back immediately, and she held her dress mostly closed with her hands. She turned, watching him go to give her time to change garments. Part of her wanted to invite him to stay, wanted him to help her out of the rest of her clothes, and, maybe into her other dress. Or maybe she would simply stay naked between fittings and find out where that might lead them.

Unfortunately, another part of her remembered how terribly things had gone last time, and she then let him leave in silence. She watched him walk away out of the corner of her eye, and only after the door had closed did she release the breath that she'd been holding all the while.

.

Marcus clenched his hands into fists so they wouldn't shake as he stepped back into the hallway. He was thankful there was no one here except the two of them. He didn't want to speak with anyone, didn't want to see anyone… Except her.

But he _couldn't _speak to her. All he could do was stare.

He shut his eyes, trying to erase the vitriol that filled his mind. Even so, it leaked through. He so wished his self-criticisms didn't resonate in his mother's voice. He was useless, he knew that. He didn't have to listen to her yell it in his mind to be convinced of that fact. He'd failed with the easiest task he'd even been given—to fuck a woman until she conceived. It wasn't a difficult process, nor a lengthy one, and _never_ an impossible one… And yet somehow he'd made it all of those things to boot.

He squeezed his eyes shut harder. He didn't know how much longer he'd be able to keep this up. Every moment brought him closer and closer to exploding.

.

Afterwards, when she finished changing, she let him back inside. There was something wary about the way he looked at her, but Alexandra tried to ignore it. She sucked in a breath, standing before him, and wondered quietly, "Do you think this will serve, my lord?"

Marcus didn't know why his mouth ran dry when he looked at her. He realized that phenomenon was happening more and more often these days, and he hated to think of the reason why. As his eyes roamed over her, he thought for a second time tonight—and probably the thousandth time since he'd met her—about how much he wanted her.

The dress was simple, thin and woolen, with no decoration and dyed a dark brown. It was nearly threadbare in its simplicity, but like all of the bejeweled, expensive creations she'd worn since she's arrived here, it suited her perfectly. He barely understood how.

"Is it enough?" She wondered, clearly nervous. He watched as she stepped in front of the mirror, and he couldn't help but smile at her worry.

"There's no cause for concern," he replied, stepped up behind her. She froze where she was when his eyes met hers in the glass. "You look just as you should."

"I look like an ugly sheepherder's daughter," she replied, a slight scowl breaking up the harmony of her expression.

Marcus couldn't help but smile, almost chuckled, and replied immediately, "You look nothing of the sort. You're far too lovely to be called such."

Alexandra's intake of air at his praise was audible, and she stood stock-still for a long moment, unaware of what to say or do in response. She held his gaze in the glass, her mouth opening and closing without words. Even though she knew she should never trust a compliment coming from him, she couldn't help but blush. He sounded so sincere, almost as if he'd forgotten how he'd sent her away when she'd offered herself to him last. Alexandra paused, evaluating the situation. Even though at times it felt like that… _fight_… had happened yesterday to her, it was in fact, weeks in the past now. Maybe he _had_ forgotten. And if he had—why shouldn't she? Was it really so hard to put that mistake behind them and start anew? Maybe he would be more open to their marital duties now. Maybe he had realized just how important their time in bed was—it wasn't for pleasure, it was for product. And they _must_ produce an heir.

A moment passed before she replied, laughing slightly, "Wouldn't it be strange, though, if that's what our lives were like? If I was a sheepherder's daughter, and you a farmer or a tavern owner?" She looked around, taking in the decadence, even in this one room. "Our lives would be so different," she murmured as her eyes roamed. They hesitated a few minutes too long on their marriage bed, and Alexandra couldn't help but wonder if that aspect of their lives would've been altered, too, if they'd married under different circumstances.

Would he have cared for at the start, possibly even loved her, if they'd married by choice and not arrangement? Would she have cried in happiness and not in pain when he took her to bed for the first time? Would she have fallen into his arms afterward, and fell asleep in his tight embrace instead of apart and unloved as she had in reality? All those thoughts made her want to smile and weep at the same time. They painted such a wonderful picture… A wonderful, unattainable picture. To distract herself from her woes, she turned back to him, and found that he'd changed in the minutes she'd let her mind wander.

Where before he'd worn his lavish everyday dress, now he looked nearly the same as any other man she might see by the side of the road or working in the fields. She couldn't help but smile, feeling the urge to touch the weathered and worn leather of his sleeveless jacket. She held back from the urge, as she held back from every other, and merely imagined doing so in her mind.

"Would you like to see, my lady?" He wondered softly, taking a couple steps toward her. He offered his arm to her when he was close enough. "Would you like to try out that life for a night?"

The small smile spreading across his wife's face was enough answer for Marcus.

.

"We should have rules."

"Hm?" Marcus asked, looking over to her. He had been admiring the crisp autumn scenery as their carriage made its way through the twists and turns of the country roads. He'd asked their coachman to take the smaller carriage, lest their usual one draw suspicion as they made their way through the village. The peasants weren't exactly shrewd on most subjects, but when it came to one of their own, they would know a pretender from a genuine member. He didn't want to be spotted before they'd even arrived.

"We should have rules," Alexandra repeated. "Or… stories; something to keep us the people we're pretending to be."

He nodded, following along. "We should keep our regular names; it would be too confusing if we changed them."

"Alright."

He looked at her. "And we should use them, you know. Addressing each other by our titles will only draw suspicion."

He watched her nod slowly; he could see her mind working to find a loophole. But there wasn't one. He frowned to himself when he knew she wasn't looking. Marcus Sloan didn't think his wife had ever called him by his first name in all the months they'd known each other. He couldn't help but hope that tonight might change that fact.

.

Their carriage pulled to a halt mere minutes later, and when her husband offered her his hand, she took it, letting him help her to solid ground. She glanced around when her feet hit the earth, but it seemed that they were nowhere near the festival. Her head turned to find his, confused. "Where are we?"

Marcus smiled faintly, tipping his chin to her left. "The festival's just down the road a ways," he told her. His smile turned into a small smirk when he admitted, "I thought it would be best if we were deposited a couple streets over, and not right in the thick of things." He gestured to his and her outfits. "It would've undermined our entire mission to arrive in a carriage with a coachman like that."

Alexandra considered his words, a smile peeking onto her face. She hadn't even thought of that. He smiled back, and a moment later, offered his arm for her to thread hers through. She did so, and he couldn't help that notice that when she walked, her entire body nearly brushed past his. He kept his eyes ahead, and forced his mind to stay blank. Neither effort succeeded.

Just as they came up upon the festival, Marcus heard a sigh escape his wife's mouth. He looked over to her, confused at the sight of dismay on her pretty features. He turned his head to the gathering, wondering what she'd seen. There wasn't anything strange, nor disheartening. Children were running, men and women were drinking, couples were dancing to the music… It was a wonderfully clear night and the field was lit up with torches, lanterns, and candles. Not a thing seemed off.

"What is it?" He asked, turning to her with concern. _She's already upset? _"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she mumbled. He could hear the dejection in her voice, and he waned nothing more than to make it go away. "It's just… You thought of everything; the clothes and the carriage, but…" Her discouraged brown eyes found his as she slipped his arm out of his and prepared to head back the way they'd come. "I hadn't thought about _you_. People will surely recognize you on sight, won't they? They'll know who we are just by looking at our faces."

Marcus smiled at her worry, relieved that it was so small… And so unfounded. "They won't, actually."

She frowned. "Why not? You are their lord. They know who you are." She refrained from mentioning all the time he'd spent in the village recently, not wanting to sound accusatory.

Marcus grimaced, suddenly embarrassed at his lack of a role in the villagers' daily lives. "I am not much of a… public figure." He shrugged. "It's not like I'm one to be emulated, in any case." She frowned, concerned as to why he thought so little of himself. "Besides," he continued a moment later, not giving her a chance to question, "I haven't been to one of these festivals in over twenty years, since I was a boy. They won't be looking for me, and least of all for you. They will see what they want to see, and the last thing they'd want to see is me." He smiled, and reached out for her hand that hung by her side. "No one will recognize me, and no one will recognize you," he promised quietly. "We will be safe, as the poor smallfolk that we are…" His eyes brightened a bit, almost laughing. "For tonight, at least," he added.

Alexandra smiled tentatively at his assurance, and he squeezed her hand encouragingly. For once, she took real comfort in his touch. She squeezed his hand back before they stepped forward and slipped away into the crowd.

.

_Author's Note: Thank you all for reading! I think you will all like the next chapter quite a bit. ;) I'll try and update soon, but I'm hoping to get another chapter in my Castle fic out first, and work a bit more on _Touch Me, _if possible_. _Thank you all SO MUCH for reading! Please be kind and leave me a review below. :)_


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18:**

Author's Note: *deep breath* This is a big one, guys. _The _big one. I sincerely hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I own Marcus and Alexandra.

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"Are you sure no one will recognize us?" She whispered, concerned, as they waited in line behind a pair of older men for drinks. The was incessant chatter and shouts piercing the air all around them, not to mention the music and clapping, but still Alexandra felt exposed, as if she weren't allowed to be here. She couldn't stop looking over her shoulder.

His lips turned up with an amused smirk when he glanced over at her, catching the nervousness in her eyes. "They won't expect us here," he replied, "so they won't be looking for us. As long as we stay out of their way, no, no one will recognize us."

"What if we bump into them?" She asked, still worried, as they stepped forward in the line.

"We won't," he replied resolutely. "I'll make sure of it. And besides," he added, "most of them don't always come here anyway. It's their night off; they're allowed to go wherever they please. I'm sure a good bunch of them would prefer the quiet of home to the noise of the Festival."

"But," Alexandra tried to protest, "what if—"

"Here," he interrupted, putting a glass in her hand with a smile. "Stop talking, and just—" He broke off, watching as she downed nearly the entire serving in one gulp.

She smiled, quietly amused, when she saw the bewilderment on his face. "What?" She asked, setting the glass back down on the vendor's counter. "You've seen me drink before."

"Not like that," he replied, shock still evident in his tone.

"Well…" She took a step away, looking over his shoulder with a smile and waiting for him to follow. "Now you have."

"But ale?" He wondered quietly into her ear as soon as they were a couple yards away. "Since when do you have such loose taste?" He made a sour face when he tasted the drink, and set it aside on a nearby table that had been set up to serve food. He knew someone else would welcome his cast-offs. People always did. "I can't even stomach it."

She smiled, replying, "Not all of us can be raised on specialty wines, if you can believe it."

He couldn't help but smirk. "I cannot believe that, actually. And I do so pity you if that was indeed the case in your life."

She grinned, laughing quietly, but didn't reply. Instead, she pushed her way through the crowd around them, soon finding that they were all circled around a large, cleared space. Alexandra couldn't help but let her lips split to form a wide smile when she realized what was going on. The space was full of people, spinning and twirling and stepping to the music; laughing and shouting and… Alexandra closed her eyes, letting the happy sounds wash over her. It'd been so long since she'd been around people like this. So long since she'd felt happy. So long since she'd had fun.

.

Marcus stood by her side, keeping one eye on her and one eye on the revelry in front of them. The dancers were moving across the grass—now torn to shreds beneath their feet so that only dirt showed—with every step and clap they executed. Nearly everyone involved, any many on the sidelines, too, were singing along to the tune, or clapping along with the rhythm. Some were doing both.

When he glanced over to his wife, he was surprised to see her eyes were tracking every movement, fascinated. She was leaning forward, as if trying to catch every sight and sound from the happy crowd before them. He suddenly recalled seeing her at Meredith's wedding—and how eagerly she'd jumped into dance after dance, even if the only partner she'd had was her little sister. He thought on that for a couple minutes while the musicians continued to play and the dancers continued to dance. He could remember the wide smiles on her face that night, and how happy she'd looked. He tried not to think of it as the only time he'd ever seen her truly happy.

He wished she wasn't so miserable around him. He would do anything to change her station in life, but it was impossible. They were already married and there was no undoing it, not now. He thought for a moment, watching as the dancers went through the last steps and thunderous clapping sounded for both them and the musicians. With the dance finally over, and quiet starting to settle again before the next took its place, he leaned towards her and asked, "Would you like to join them for the next one?"

His voice shocked her, and for a moment, Alexandra could do nothing but stand still. She was about to reply, No, of course not. She knew he hated dancing, and she couldn't abandon him on the sidelines just because she wanted to go and he didn't. But when she finally looked over to him, she saw he was offering his hand to her, offering himself… "_Really_?" She wondered, her eyes brightening and her voice rising in surprise. She missed the small smile that turned up his lips at her reaction. "But you hate dancing," she blurted before she could stop herself.

His eyes narrowed, and his head tilted to the side slightly, wondering, "What made you think that?"

"You didn't dance with anyone at my sister's wedding," she pointed out. _Not even me._

Marcus held his tongue, wondering what to say. He didn't feel like explaining that the moment he got to his feet at that wedding, one or more (or maybe even all) of Derek's sisters would've rushed to his side, all currying for his favor. After he'd dealt with all of them, their mother would've come next, to take stock of the situation and question him mercilessly about what he thought of his bride-to-be. He'd have to dance with the bride herself after that, which he would've have minded half so much as the rest, but inevitably all that would've have taken so much time that the night would've been nearly over by the time he would've been able to seek out the only one he'd really wanted to dance with in the first place. So he'd simply sat back and watched her, settling for what he could get.

"I don't enjoy the practice much," he answered finally, foregoing the longer answer. It was a half-truth, but he hoped it was enough for her. He watched as she nodded, looking down.

"Oh," she murmured, subdued.

He frowned. That wasn't the impression he'd wanted to give her. He didn't enjoy dancing, yes, but if it was with the right person… Well, if it was the right person, it didn't matter _what _they were doing together. He bit his tongue so he wouldn't sigh. Obviously she hadn't seen that undertone to his words. Why did everything he tried to say always come out wrong?

"I save dances for women I care about," he told her, meeting her eyes as he spoke so there would be no mistake as to what he meant, what he felt.

Alexandra swallowed, staring at him. _I save dances for Addison, _she heard, her insides twisting a bit as they always did whenever she thought about that mystery woman who's broken his heart. But then a moment passed. Alexandra smiled when she realized, _And for me, too. He saves danced for me as well. _That cheered her a considerable amount, even though part of her knew she was treading on fragile ground, and should therefore be cautious. _He saves dances for me._ Nonetheless was smiling when she teased, "So you care for me, do you?"

"You're my wife," Marcus replied immediately, his voice flat and his expression almost insulted as he spoke.

His business-like response made the smile fall off of Alexandra's face. She quickly looked down and away, trying not to think even as her mind spiraled away from her. _Wife but not lover, _she thought, hating and condemning the sadness that pierced through her at the thought. _Married but not joined. Together but not one._ She forced herself to raise her head a second later, and then made herself smile again. "And I'm pleased to be such."

He stared at her for a long moment, not knowing what to say to that. He was just opening his mouth when he heard the musicians call for order and to make sure everyone was ready. Without wasting a second, he grabbed her hand in his and pulled her after him to the crowd of people. _Actions speak louder than words, _he remembered hearing Carolyn Shepherd tell him when he was a boy. Well, that always suited him. Words were never his strong suit.

When they finally arrived, Marcus took her hand more firmly in his and moved to the middle of the congregation of people, away from prying outside eyes. When they arrived at the center, the dance had already begun, and the feel of the bodies all around them was nearly suffocating. So many people, crushed together into such a small space… "Popular dance," Marcus muttered under his breath, half-annoyed and half-relieved that he'd picked such a well-known dance. At least they were surrounded. He watched the men as they approached, trying to memorize their steps. After a few seconds, it came back to him. He'd danced this as an adolescent and a young man; it _was _a popular dance… for a very simple reason. The final steps in the dance purposefully made the dancers crash together. It was customary to seal such a moment with a kiss.

Marcus bit back a sigh, banishing that thought from his mind as he took her other hand in his and they joined the others in the steps. He would deal with that moment when the time came. He looked over at her, curious as to how well she knew the dance. He watched her body twist towards and away from his, listened to the _swish _of her clothesand saw the twirl of her dress, and when he saw she was smiling, he knew she knew the dance perfectly. Her demure eyes found his partway through the dance, and when a shy, almost coy smile turned up her lips, he realized then that she knew how the dance ended as well. And that there was no getting out of it now.

He could feel the excitement building in the air as the music became more intense as the end neared. Everyone in the crowd was anticipating this moment, and those on the outskirts were cheering them on, laughing and egging the dancers on with vulgar suggestions. Marcus hoped none of them were directed at his wife, for he knew he'd be spotted in a second if he got into a fight. All too soon, the dance was ending, and when the moment came, it ended up taking him by surprise.

She stumbled into him with a giggle, and he could still feel the laughter rumble through her body when he pressed his lips against hers. He forced himself to keep it short—he _had _to keep it short, for both of their sakes'—but even so, his lips lingered. She could just barely feel the scratch of his beard as his lips pressed against hers, but it was enough to send currents of static underneath her skin. Even as she longed to reach for him, he pulled back.

He stared down into her eyes for such a very long moment that she couldn't help but hope that he was going to kiss her again. She could see he wanted to. She knew she was probably deluding herself on that score, but she could almost swear she saw that want in his eyes. He didn't look away from her, and his hands were still holding hers lightly. Both of hers were clasped in his, as per the dance required—near the end of the dance, every dancer held their partner at arm's length and then suddenly one would pull tight on the other's arms to bring them close for the ending step—and a kiss.

Alexandra couldn't help but smile to herself as she stared up at him. He'd pulled her towards him first. She remembered all the little rhymes and stories she'd learned as a child; she knew whoever pulled the other close first was the most interested. She wished that was the truth here, but obviously only the opposite was true. The opposite would always be true.

.

Marcus knew he should let go of her hands. He should let go, take a step back, and excuse himself. He needed a minute (or an hour) to himself to figure out what was going to happen next, to figure out how he could keep himself sane. But it seemed his body was intent on driving him _in_sane, for before he knew was he was doing, his hands had pulled her closer. One of his hands stayed clutched around hers while the other fell to her waist.

"What are you doing?" She wondered, surprised. She glanced around to the other couples, but found that none of them were doing the same.

"Dancing with you." His eyes seemed to smile at her as he wondered, adjusting his grip on her waist, "Isn't it obvious?"

Alexandra couldn't help but chuckle softly, replying, "But this isn't a slow dance."

"Not yet." He glanced to the musicians, noting that they were beginning to start up again. "But it will be soon, trust me."

Alexandra watched in astonishment as a moment later, all the other dancers began to pair up. The music began soon after, soft and quiet at first, but steadily growing to a familiar, comfortable, and very slow rhythm.

"How did you know that?" She wondered aloud, turning back to him.

He smiled at how impressed she was; how the simplest things awed her. He realized he liked bringing that look of astonishment to her face. "I just did." Decades of coming to this festival had taught him which songs went where, and it seemed nothing had changed over time. It was not hard to remember that a slow song followed the one that ended with a kiss. It gave potential couples a few more minutes of each other's time in privacy, something countless boys and girls greatly enjoyed. It gave the boys time to whisper sweet words and flirtations into the maiden's ears. The girls would perfect the art of blushing on cue and looking away shyly, while always returning their gaze to their partner. More often than not, this dance had ended with those young things running off to the woods for privacy, or to find a quiet moment behind a nearby woodshed to steal a few extra kisses, and sometimes more. Marcus recalled doing just that on many, many occasions when he was a younger man.

Alexandra smiled as they moved about the space in time with the other couples and the music. "You're a good dancer," she commented quietly after a few minutes, a note of surprise ringing rather clearly in her voice. She remembered how he hadn't moved from his seat during her sister's wedding, and how there hadn't been any dancing at their own wedding. She had thought it was because he was something less than graceful, but as that possibility had just been ruled out, she had no answer. But she remembered his own answer a moment later, and asked, smiling up at him with her eyes twinkling, "So is the practice of dancing proving unenjoyable now?"

His lips flickered into a smile, knowing it was a loaded question that played on his own words. "No," he murmured, edging closer an inch or two, "it is very enjoyable right now."

Her lips spread in a full smile; it lit up her face. "I'm glad."

And because she was, he couldn't help but be glad too. "So am I," he murmured softly.

They danced in silence after that, keeping time with the other couples around them. Alexandra should have been watching each face, she knew, trying to memorize the townsfolk that were now her people, but she simply couldn't tear her eyes away from his. She had never seen such beautiful eyes, never looked into someone's face and been unable—physically unable—to look away. She remembered how her sister and Derek would gaze into each other's eyes when they thought no one was looking. She wondered if she looked as silly now as they had then. She found she didn't care, not one bit, not even if her sisters were here to see her.

After a seemingly endless stretch of time, it became clear that musicians were beginning to draw the dance to a close. Other couples were separating, some finding new partners, some abandoning the dance for other pursuits, but Marcus and Alexandra didn't stray from one another. She couldn't take her eyes off him—still—and she told herself that she would step away once he initiated their parting. But he never did that. He never stepped away. No, instead, he stepped _closer_. Closer and closer, so close that they had stopped dancing altogether but were merely standing, holding each other…

And then when the strings rose to a concluding crescendo, he bent his head down to hers. She barely had time to draw a quick breath before his lips settled on hers, for she hadn't expected it this time. _This is not a dance that ends with a kiss, _she found herself thinking as his lips pressed against hers. Not a second later that thought—and every other, for that matter—were blown out of her mind. Sense and reason left, too; all that remained was emotion and instinct. They both told her to stay where she was, not to pull away.

He seemed to be getting the same messages, for he didn't pull back as usual either. Instead, he stepped forward, and angled his mouth to deepen their kiss. She felt flames erupt under her skin and desire pool in her threadbare woolen dress when his tongue trailed along her lips slowly, sensually. It took her a full second to grasp that he was seeking an invitation instead forcing his way in and demanding entrance. She opened her mouth at once all the same, granting him admittance eagerly, and his tongue slipped into hers almost carefully, probing its admittedly unfamiliar caverns. Her tongue latched onto his, and like the rest of her mouth—and certain other parts of her body, he remembered—it was warm and wet and intoxicating. As if in a daze, he drew his hand away from where it had been clasped in hers—keeping his other firmly wrapped around her waist as it had been in dance—and used it to cup the back of her neck to bring her closer. She let out a weak moan, almost a whimper, when he did that, and it instinctively made him clutch her closer. Part of him wanted to hold her close to protect her, from himself and everyone else, as irrational as it sounded, and the other part of him wanted to drag her off to the nearest secluded location to have his way with her. But all too soon, he had to draw back for air, even though he wanted nothing more than to go on kissing her until he lost his breath entirely. It would've been such a sweet way to die, and he would've welcomed the demise with opens arms and a tranquil mind.

He squeezed his eyes further shut when their lips broke reluctantly. It felt like it had been _so long _since their lips had last touched. Marcus Sloan had a very hard time believing that the last time he'd kissed his wife before tonight had been on their wedding night. How had he gone so long without this? Without _anything_?

Alexandra found herself swallowing unsteadily as they both pulled back, unsure of what to think. They were still locked in their frozen dance-like embrace; his arm was at her waist and hers was resting on his left shoulder. She was pressed up close to him so that whenever she took a breath, he could feel it. She couldn't remember the last time they'd stood so close for so long. Had they ever stood so close? That one hug just a day ago had been nothing compared to this.

"Partners are… are not supposed to kiss at the end of slow dances," she whispered, feeling the need to break the silence. She was suddenly very aware of his hand on her waist, and the way his second was cupping her neck still. His thumb stroked the smooth skin of the back of her neck as he stared at her, more serious than she'd ever seen him. The tips of his fingers buried themselves into her hair, just up to the first joint. They caressed her scalp softly, moving in slow circles. Alexandra suddenly felt like she was going to faint; she hadn't felt so lightheaded with emotion in a long time… if ever.

"I've never really done much that I was supposed to do."

She swallowed again. "Except… marrying me," Alexandra pointed out in a hushed whisper. She wished she could take back the words the moment she said them. She didn't know what was wrong with her. She wished she could blame her bold words on the drink and the kiss, but she knew that wasn't what it was about at all. Though she'd drank it quickly, she was used to ale and she knew exactly how much she could take—that which she had drunk before would be of nowhere near enough consequence to even make her feel lightheaded, nor make her act like this. It was just her, being outspoken as always… and, of course, at the wrong moments.

He blinked at her, obviously surprised. She didn't retract her statement; it was true, they both knew it was. They'd done their duties to their families, done what was asked of them, regardless of how much they'd both dreaded the prospect. "You're correct," he answered finally, surprising her with his calm, even voice. He surprised her even more by looking down and sighing sadly.

"What is it?" She wondered, concerned at the sorrowful tinge his actions suddenly held now. "What's wrong?" _What've I done?_

"I haven't been doing my duty by you," he replied, his voice a low, embarrassed murmur.

She swallowed, surprised that he would bring that up now. "You—"

"I hurt you," he continued, his tone much softer and full of contrition now. The hand that had been cupping her neck shifted and he took more of her cheek in his large, warm palm. Her skin felt ever so soft and smooth against his. He tried not to think about how he wanted to feel more—feel _all_—of it. He wanted to feel her body sliding against his, soaked in sweat, clenched in completion… "I'm so sorry for that, more sorry than you could ever imagine, my dear." He closed his eyes, and his brow furrowed in contrition while hers did so in confusion. "I… I have not wanted to hurt you again, that is why I've stayed away all this time," he explained in a whisper. "That's why I ordered you to put your clothes back on that…" She watched him swallow, and held her breath. "That night," he finished in a whisper. "I wanted, gods know I wanted…" He sighed, breaking off and closing his eyes. He started anew a moment later. "I had hoped…" He looked down, and his other hand fingered her waist. "I had hoped once would be enough. I had hoped you might be with child by now and…" He sighed. "And that our duty to each other would be done." He shook his head, troubled and clearly disappointed.

Alexandra felt ice crust over her heart when he finished speaking. The chill spread out through her veins, borne on her bloodstream to every part of her once warm, once joyful body. She stepped back, drawing away from his hands, shrinking back into herself. She suddenly remembered that conversation with Meredith the morning of her wedding, remembered how they'd spoken of getting her new husband to love her. _He'll never love me, _she thought now, realizing just how meaningless all the progress they'd accrued over the past few days had been. They had only been little steps, and in the grand scheme of things, they had meant nothing. _He'll never want me. He never has. I am just as doomed now as I was when all this began._

"Alexandra…"

His voice was distant already, and his face blurry. She suddenly realized it was because her eyes were filling with tears, because her blood was rushing in her ears—she was on the verge of crying, of breaking down altogether, and she knew she couldn't let him see that. Not again, never again. _Never. _She fled before he could say another word, running to the cover of the nearby woods immediately. It looked to be the only place that might offer her some privacy, and she practically sprinted to it, pushing through the onlookers, no longer caring what sort of scene she made or if anyone recognized her as a result of it.

She tripped just feet past the treeline, her legs made clumsy and awkward by the horribly simple dress. She suddenly wanted to rip it off, to denounce who she was—peasant and noble lady alike. She felt her eyes fill with tears again as she caught herself on a nearby tree. She had thought he had wanted her. She had really thought he'd wanted her. Tonight, they had grown closer than they had in months, closer even than they had these last few days. They had spoken, really spoken tonight. And _kissed. _She closed her eyes, feeling like falling to a heap on the ground like a discarded piece of clothing. She wanted to crumple in on herself and be forgotten forever… though she knew that had pretty much already happened.

_Of course _he doesn't care for me, she thought, feeling more heartbroken than she'd ever felt in her life. _Of course _it was only a duty for him. _Of course _he dreads doing it again. _Wouldn't any man?_

She hated herself for keeping that false hope alive for so long. He had never wanted her; she'd known that after the first night. But more than she hated herself, she hated Derek Shepherd, hated how he'd taken it upon himself to rekindle that hope when she'd already succeeded in stamping it out. She'd had a handle on things then. She knew where she and her husband stood, and those two separate places were a good five miles apart. But then Derek had gone and sent that letter with his mother and all of that progress she'd made had been lost. She'd let her hopes and dreams get away from her and now she had to pay the price and face the cold reality.

As ridiculous as she felt now for admitting it, she couldn't deny that that first night hadbeen wonderful for her…and apparently for her alone, as much as she hated to think. He had aroused her and pleased her in ways she never thought possible. He had _taken care _with her… She had thought all of that had sprung from some warmth he felt for her in his heart, but it was clear he felt nothing but duty towards her. He didn't care for her; he was simply _taking _careof her, doing what needed to be done. _He was only doing his duty to me._

_But the kiss, _a tiny, unsilenceable voice whispered, forever tempting, _the kiss, and the dance…_

Alexandra shook her head, wiping her eyes. _Forget that, _she told herself. _Forget the kiss, forget the dance, forget the candles and the gentility. He had a duty to me and he did it, like a man should and a gentleman would._ She took a deep breath, drawing herself up to her full height. She would have to face him soon, and it was better she did it as a whole woman, not a broken one… at least not broken on the outside, not where he could see it. Alexandra wiped her eyes so her tears wouldn't betray her.

When she turned around to walk back to the festival, she found him waiting for her, just mere feet away. He stood beside the first tree that began the forest, keeping a respectable distance. Even in the darkness, she could see the sorrow and apology in his eyes. She hoped he couldn't see the had-been tears in hers.

"Forgive me, my lord," she murmured, her eyed downcast as she walked up to him. Her cheeks burned with humiliation. "That was childish of me to run away like that." She glanced up to him momentarily, but seeing that hard look in his blue eyes, she quickly averted her eyes again. "We should return home to the castle."

She had taken only one step away from the woods when his arm grabbed hers. His grip was hard as iron, and she shrank back, only to find that he matched her, step by step. She felt her breath escape her when her back hit the rough bark of a tree. There was nowhere to go now. He was standing so close to her, she could smell him. She could almost feel the heat she had felt when their bodies were pressed close in dance as they were minutes ago, too… though Alexandra felt none of the warm feeling inside her now that she had then.

He stared at her in silence for a long time. For every minute that passed, Alexandra felt herself come to terms with things, to see them the way he must see them. She had overreacted before, that was clear now. One night of playing at another life did not mean that she could escape her real life. And simply because he'd indulged her and executed his part perfectly by dancing a few dances with her, that did not mean that he suddenly felt something for her now. This night didn't change a thing, and she had to realize that. Nothing would ever change. _But the kiss, _that nagging voice reminded her, _the kiss…_

"Do you really not care for me?" She demanded to know suddenly, staring up at him with those fierce brown eyes. "Not at all? Not in the very least?" The words ripped from her before she could think to silence herself. Anger had replaced sadness now, and her voice was rising, her eyes growing ever more fiery. She felt angrier now than she'd ever been in her entire life. Alexandra tried not to believe that he didn't care for her, but what logic was on her side? He was kind to her for one night, and then disappeared for weeks on end—_months_—immediately afterwards. And when she offered herself to him, like an olive branch, like a gift, he had yelled at her to cover herself. It had been made clear time and time again that he cared nothing for her, that in fact he disliked her, but she couldn't stop hoping. She couldn't stop hoping and wishing, couldn't stop reaching for that ridiculous happy future she'd built up in her head when they'd first met. She'd turned their "relationship" into so much more than it ever was. _Just like I did with George._

"Is it really so hard for you," she asked, unable to keep her anger is check as her voice rose to a shout, "to even _pretend _to want me? Simply for—for five minutes; that's all it takes!" She sucked in a breath, continuing a second later, her voice running quicker than ever, "I know I am—am young compared to you, and so I have little experience, naught but what you gave me that first night, but I… I have _tried._" Her eyes shone with desperate tears now, Alexandra knew, and she hated herself for it. She didn't dare try to wipe them away lest it drew his notice. …But knowing him, no doubt he'd already noticed long ago. She pressed on to distract herself, and raised her angry voice in hopes to distract him as well. "I have _tried_ to be a good wife to you, the best—best way I know how. I tried on our wedding night to—to please you…" Her voice fell to a whisper, ragged and broken. "And, and again, I tried to… to entice you, to make myself desirable in your eyes…" _…but apparently that's impossible. _Her voice choked off, and the tears that had sprung to her eyes before fell down her cheeks as her voice abandoned her. She would never be desirable to him, she knew that now. He'd never like her or want her and they would spend the rest of their days stuck in this horrible sham of a marriage without even children to distract them from their hatred for one another… She sniffed, lifting a hand to swipe at her cheeks angrily to hide the evidence that she felt anything other than rage when it came to him.

"I tried my hardest," she told him loudly, "I tried everything and anything I could think of, but if you knew you would never want me at the start, you might as well have never married me!" She felt the rage boiling over inside her, and she didn't even think before she shouted, "Because it's clear now that I'd be better off without you even if it meant I'd be alone for the rest of my life!"

"I didn't—" He tried to interrupt, but she wouldn't allow it. Instead, she barreled right past him.

"If you wanted no more after that first night, if you wanted nothing more than duty between us, then you should have shot your seed straighter within me, for it seems you missed." Her brown eyes flashed angrily, accusing him. "But I forgot, you would not _like to_." She spit out the words like they were coated in poison. "For I am not a whore, or a common woman—" Her hands slapped at the train of her simple dress for emphasis "—or, or—" Her voice rose hysterically. "—or _Addison_, or any other woman that remotely arouses any kind of feeling or attraction in you."

The shocked look on his handsome face pleased her to see. He did not seem like a man who was easily taken advantage of, and she was proud of being able to do so. For once.

"You think I do not find you attractive?" He wondered aloud when he'd finally found his voice. He sounded insulted as his eyes widened in shock. He couldn't comprehend what she was saying. _How could she even think that? _"You think you don't… arouse me?" He questioned, flabbergasted. _You don't ever do anything _but _arouse me, _he thought to himself.

Emboldened with her triumph, Alexandra went so far as to glare at him and speak in a harsh, almost commanding tone. "Do not make me repeat my words. They were hard enough to say the first time."

He stared at her, appraising her with his clear blue eyes before asking, "Do you know why I've escaped to the village as often as I can since you arrived here?" He paused, but she didn't answer. "Do you why I went hunting and off for rides everyday, why I joined you in bed exhausted near every night?" He said the words quickly, and they streamed from his mouth so fast, so angrily, that she had to listen intently to catch every word.

"I assume…" She paused, wondering where this question would lead them. _For what do I care what you do with your days? If you don't spend them with me, what do they matter? _"I assume because you… enjoy the exercise those pursuits offer you."

"I run myself into the ground everyday," he corrected harshly, "so that I am unable to take you like an _animal_ when we are alone in bed together, for that's all I want to do." He watched her eyes grow wide as saucers, watched her mouth fall open in surprise. She didn't seem to believe him, but it was true, it was all true. That was all he wanted to do: take her, fuck her, have her, love her, please her… All he wanted was _her_. He couldn't remember ever being so attracted to a woman before, so drawn by so little. She wasn't Addison. (He didn't waste a thought wondering how she knew that name or who told her; not now, at least.) Alexandra didn't have Addison's wild red hair, her lust-filled eyes, her hands that knew exactly where to go and exactly what to do. His wife was inexperienced in every sense of the word, and where that had nearly repulsed him before, it attracted him beyond comprehension now. All he'd wanted for months, all he'd _ever_ wanted he'd recently come to realize, was her. "Every night," he told her in a low voice, causing shivers to spread out across her skin, "every night—hell, every _day_—I have wanted you, I have wanted you _so badly… _but I have forced myself to hold back."

Marcus stared at her, his jaw set and his eyes alight as they stared into hers. He didn't know why he just said what he did. He wanted to flee, to run, to denounce every word that had just left his mouth as a falsification, but it was too late now. It was too late and there was nowhere to turn and—she knew. Gods, she knew now, knew everything. When he blinked, his eyes stayed shut for a few moments too long. He'd do anything to get away from her, even for just a couple seconds. He couldn't fathom all that he'd just told her.

Alexandra was so shocked at first that she couldn't respond. She just kept staring at him, opening her mouth to reply and then closing it when she realized she had absolutely nothing to say. It didn't make any sense. He didn't want her. He couldn't. He made that perfectly clear. Unavoidably clear. _Well, _she thought, _he made that perfectly clear _before_ he kissed me tonight. _But she'd already decided that that kiss didn't matter. She'd already come to terms with the fact that it was all a lie, a joke; it was nothing. It was everything to her, of course, but it meant nothing to him. It had to mean nothing. That was the only explanation that made any sense.

Finally, he couldn't stand to stare at her in silence anymore. "What?" He demanded, his voice so gruff and unexpected that it made her jump in place. "You have nothing to say to that?" His eyes burned into hers, nailing her in place. "Nothing at all?"

Alexandra swallowed, thinking of what he'd want to hear. She didn't know how to answer his questions. She didn't know how to appease him. So she simply asked, because she didn't understand, "…Why? Why did you… hold back?" She paused, licking her lips. "Did you—Did you think that I did not want you just the same?" A thought hit her, and her eyes widened when she realized it must've been some assumption he'd been working off of all this time to treat their relationship like this. "Did you think I did not want you… at _all_?"

_Isn't it obvious? _She wanted to continue. _I've wanted you since the night you took my maidenhead and truly made me your wife. I've wanted you since the moment I first saw you, though I barely admitted it to myself then. I wanted you then, and I want you now. I will want you forever. I want you, I want you, I want you!_

"You were forced into marrying me," he replied, keeping his voice so soft she had to strain to hear him. "I—_I_—forced you into marrying me," he repeated emphatically, correcting himself, "and I… I had no desire to force you into anything else afterwards." He took a quiet breath. "Especially… _that_." He looked her in the eye, and she found him more solemn and serious now than she'd ever seen him in all the months she'd known him. "A man is not a man if he forces love from a woman," he murmured quietly, his eyes averted from hers.

"But…" She trailed off, struggling to understand. What did forcefulness have to do with anything else they were talking about? He hadn't forced her into a thing. She'd agreed to the marriage, too; she hadn't wanted to at first, but she'd eventually agreed and accepted it. She frowned a moment later, seeing that there was only one option left. "On our wedding night…" She trailed off, not knowing what to say. He hadn't forced her. He hadn't done a thing to hurt her; it wasn't his fault that pain had to accompany becoming a real woman.

"It… It was expected of us then," he began quietly, so much quieter than the situation warranted. She wondered why he was being so solemn about all this. "Of me and of you. It had to be done that night; there was no avoiding it." He tilted his head to the side, gazing into her eyes so deeply she felt momentarily uncomfortable. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice sounding hoarse, "I'm so sorry, I tried…" He closed his eyes, releasing a large sigh. "The gods Above know that I tried to be gentle with you. I tried to make it as painless as possible for you…"

"I know." Her voice came out a whisper this time, too, and she suddenly understood the reason for his solemnity. She remembered his gentle caresses that night, remembered his warm mouth, and how he'd worked to make her wet so that it was easier on her body when his cock entered it. _He cared for me, even then. _Her head filled with the thought, and grew heavy and dizzy. _Even that first night he cared. Oh, dear… _She couldn't believe how horribly she'd miscalculated all this. But even more so, she couldn't believe how horribly _he'd _miscalculated it too.

His tortured blue-grey eyes met hers. "I did not succeed in that goal."

"You—"

"I saw the tears on your face, my lady." He stepped closer, and even if Alexandra could've moved back this time, she didn't dare. Where she had wanted nothing more than to run from him before, all she wanted now was for him to draw her near and keep her close. She wanted him to hold her, to kiss her, to show her what it meant to be a woman and to truly know a man. She wanted him to love her, even though she knew neither of them felt that way about the other. _Not yet, at least, _a hopeful voice whispered silently into her ear. _Not yet, but… But…_

"I saw the blood on the sheets when I awoke that morning." His hoarse words summoned her from her thoughts. "I could not face you after that. I could not look into your eyes, knowing I'd done that to you, knowing I'd caused you that kind of pain. I… I had to leave."

"You…" She trailed off, her forehead lined in confusion. "You're… sorry?" She licked her lips, trying to piece it all together. "For how you… hurt me?" He nodded vigorously, and watching him do so made her head spin. _How does he have so many regrets and I none? And why has he never mentioned this before?_ She drew a breath, struggling to understand still. "Did you not… Did you not hear the way I cried out in pleasure that night?" She wondered, genuinely confused. He almost flinched at her words, trying not to remember. All he could see was the blood, and her tears. All he could remember was how much he'd wanted her, and how much he still wanted her… And how much he knew she didn't want him in return. Why was she torturing him with these lies? "Did you not see my legs quivering, or feel the way my body clenched yours tight? Did you not feel _any_ of it?" She felt something tug on her heart, felt tears prick her eyes again, but for a different reason than before. _He didn't feel it? Any of it? _She hated the way her chin trembled when she realized how very possible it was that he hadn't felt the same about that first night as she had. It had been the most magical night of her life; the most romantic thing she'd ever experienced. It had been unlike anything she'd ever done before, and not simply because she'd been a virgin at the time. _And he didn't understand._ She knew then that she had to make him understand, had to show him. He had to know, even for just a moment, how he made her feel. "None of that was ever painful," she told him, hushed as she struggled to sort through all of her feelings associated with that night. "There was no pain, my lord, only pleasure. You brought me pleasure such as I have never known." She couldn't help but let a small smile take shape on her face, even as she remembered. Suddenly, she didn't care if he didn't understand what that night was like for her, didn't care that he didn't feel the same way. Their wedding night had been the best night of her entire life, and if he hadn't enjoyed it, it didn't matter. She would treasure it all the same. "You were wonderful," she whispered, barely louder than the softest breath. "Wonderful to me. More kind and gentle than I could have ever dreamed or hoped for."

Marcus Sloan stared at his wife in dumbstruck wonder. He could not think. _How can she feel that way? _He wondered, uncomprehending. _How could she speak of wanting me so when I did little better than raping her?_ He shook his head, but when his eyes found hers, she was smiling and nodding as if she knew his doubts and wanted to make them no more. He shook his head again, taking a step back now, but she wouldn't let him walk away. She grabbed onto the collar of his shirt, holding him in place. "It's true," she whispered, as if she was able to read his thoughts and understand his qualms. "It's true," she assured him, "I swear, it's…" She lifted her hands up slowly and carefully framed his face in her hands. She pulled him down to her level so their eyes could meet. "I wanted you then," she whispered, her lips just an inch or two away from his, "I wanted you that first night and every one afterwards." She blinked up at him, suddenly terrified. "But it's never been a question of whether or not _I _want you…" She trailed off, struggling to swallow her fear now that the time had come for the truth. "It's always been…" She licked her lips. "It's always been about whether or not _you _want me." She adjusted her grip on his cheeks, lifting her head to be closer to him; hoping, hoping, hoping… "D—Do you?" She whispered, quiet as a mouse, shy as the maiden she still felt like most days. "Do you truly want me, do you mean what you said?" She bit her lip, "Because if you don't…"

But she never got to finish that sentence, and neither did she ever discover what would've happen if he didn't want her. When his head ducked down to claim her mouth as his, it came as a surprise to both of them. Marcus had been denying his body its wants for far too long; it was clear he would end up hitting the breaking point soon enough. He could never have been more relieved, though, to find out just what he had before he hit it and gave in. He shut his eyes as his lips moved with hers. He still almost couldn't believe it. _She wants me_. The thought sent sparks through his body, sent his blood to boiling and his mind into overdrive.

His lips were hard and desperate against hers, channeling all that unexpressed emotion from the past months, and she moaned as they crashed against hers. Without thinking, she lifted a hand and fisted it into his hair, hoping to force his head even closer. His tongue did not ask permission this time, it simply entered her already open mouth and joined with hers. He groaned when her other hand came to his back. It fisted his undershirt, pulling it up from under his tunic so her hand could touch the smooth skin of his lower back. He shivered when that skin was exposed to the cold night's air, and pressed her harder against the tree in response. The bark dug into her back through her thin material of her simple attire, but she didn't spare a second to care. His mouth was on hers, his hands were squeezing her breasts though her dress, and she could feel herself rapidly growing wet between her thighs. Her heart was hammering so hard she thought it would pop out of her chest.

"Take me home," she gasped when they broke for air, still clutching him close so their hot breaths mingled and cascaded over each other's faces. "Take me home and take me to bed and _take me _like we have both wanted for weeks. Please, my lord," she begged, not caring how desperate she sounded or looked as she stared into his eyes. "Please, it's been so long."

Her words echoed his own thoughts. _It's been so long. _Hadn't he just been ruminating over the same subject, over the last time they'd kissed? Marcus couldn't help but smile, and a second later, he scooped her up into his arms, lifting her off the ground in one fluid move.

"What are you doing?" She demanded to know, nearly screeching when she found herself suspended in his strong arms. "What—"

"I'm doing as you asked," he replied. He stared at her for a moment, and in that moment, she watched his eyes grow a warmer shade of their usual icy blue. It made her heart thump louder beneath her heaving breast. "And I'm doing what I've wanted to do from that moment I first laid eyes on you."

.

_Author's Note: I'm so very sorry to have to end it there. But trust me when I say that the next chapter will be well worth the wait. Please make my day and leave me a review, my loyal friends and followers._

_I would just like to take this moment to thank all of you who have stuck with me through all the angst and drama of this story. I remember telling you all that things would work out eventually… :) Thank you all for believe in me and trusting that statement. There's still so much more to come. I hope you're all as excited as I am._

_Please leave your thoughts below. :)_


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19:**

_Author's Note:__ I'd like to clear something up quickly: Nothing in that last chapter was a dream or a fantasy. And everything in this chapter is real, too._

_A quick not to a couple anons:_

_Olympia: I was SO happy to see your reaction to the last chapter. I'm so glad you loved the chapter, and I think you will love this one even more!_

_Anon that love u: Why thank you for that title ;) Like I said before, I PROMISE none of the last chapter was a dream. None of the next one will be a dream, either. Thank you so much for your enthusiasm for this story! I will definitely keep writing; thank you so much for your support!_

_ML3MeantToBe: Thank you! I am so glad you were so happy about them finally working things out. :)_

_Now, without any further ado…_

.

.

He kissed her all the way home, and even tried slipping a hand underneath her dress and between her thighs. She was not wearing hosiery, so she could feel his hand so acutely as it tried to sneak its way up her bare thigh. She broke the kiss when she felt him there. "That is not what lords do," she gasped, breathless and scandalized, trying to move away even though she wanted nothing more than to give in to his seductive touch. She knew what prize he was seeking, and she would give it to him in a heartbeat…if only they were safe and alone at home.

He simply smiled, and leaned forward to kiss her again. She moaned softly when she felt him begin stroking the inside of her thighs, ever so softly. "My lord," she whispered, a quiet and only half-serious reprimand. Her voice was overflowing with longing, just like her body.

"Have you forgotten already, Alexandra?" He smiled, parting their lips but never leaving her without his touch. "I am not a lord tonight, and you are not a lady."

She felt a small smile curve up her lips at the thought. They were what they were, of course, but maybe they could pretend otherwise for just a few hours more… She swallowed. _As long as he feels the same waking to Lady Alexandra on the morrow as he does falling into bed with the sheepherder's daughter tonight…_ But her lingering doubt soon left her, for his fingers were inching closer to her wetness, and she couldn't focus on anything except his touch and his lips and the passionate command she'd give him before they left.

.

"I… I do not think I can walk," she admitted in a whisper, moments after he had brought her to her peak just with his fingers in the back of their carriage. Marcus smiled, remembering how every rut in the road had made his thumb come in contact with her swollen nub. She had gasped each time his thumb stroked it, and near the end, as he was pumping into her faster and harder—she had begged him to do so—he'd stroked that nub so swiftly and unrelentingly that she'd released like a bolt of lightning, her scream of pleasure as bone-tingling as the loudest thunder.

She'd hit her peak just before the carriage pulled to a stop, and he'd covered her mouth with his to hide her subsequent scream from the coachman. She was shaking when he pulled back, but he could see a smile on her face. _All is well for now, _he had thought, smiling back, _and about to be even better._ When she whispered that she couldn't walk, he scooped her up into his arms without a word and descended to the ground.

Mercifully, the driver said naught a word as he carried her from the carriage and towards the castle. The horses snorted and stamped their feet, but he ignored them, focusing instead on holding his wife's body at the perfect height for her to feel his rock-hard cock against her hip. He jogged a bit up the couple of steps that led to the front door, and he could hear her gasp aloud whenever his hardness hit her. It made him smile, especially when he saw the light blush staining her cheeks again. God, he loved that blush. Just that blush could make him hard. And it had, on many occasions.

Because the house was empty, he stopped in the middle of the front room, and kissed her soundly on the mouth for all—which was no one—to see. She moaned at the deep kiss like a most agreeable whore when he kissed her, but then giggled like a little girl when he pulled back. She tugged on the collar of his plain tunic impatiently after their lips broke. "Bedroom," she whispered, and he headed for the stairs immediately. He hefted her up higher in his arms, ignoring her assurances that she could walk on her own now. She tried to protest again, but when she saw that it would get her nowhere, she simply laid her head against his chest and relaxed in his strong arms as he carried her to the second floor.

When he reached top of the turning staircase, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head before setting her gently on her feet. One hand clutched hers tight as the other moved to support her lower back as the walked towards the bedroom together. She smiled to herself at how attentively he took care of her, and once again, recalled that first night between them with a smile. She had an idea that this night would be even better.

.

He pulled her close just after shutting the bedroom door behind them. His arms crisscrossed over her back, gently tangling in her long, dark hair that hung down well past her shoulders. Her lips gave into his immediately, opening and closing and following the rhythm he'd set. When he tilted his forehead towards her, angling his mouth more sharply to take hers, her hands went from resting on his chest to fisting the collar of his shirt in her hands.

When they finally broke for air, he pressed his brow against hers, looked into her eyes, and whispered hoarsely, "Are you sure about this, Alexandra?" Marcus knew there was no turning back if they kept going forward at this pace. He could barely control himself now, even with all their clothes still on.

She nodded, breathless. "Yes." Her voice was short and clipped; she couldn't understand why she couldn't get enough air into her lungs. What was this man doing to her?

Marcus cupped her cheek in his hand, running his thumb over her smooth skin. "I… I will try my best to control myself," he told her quietly, an apology already in his voice, "but I don't know how much I'll truly be able to control." He closed his eyes, and whispered, so low she thought he hadn't even meant to say it aloud, "I've wanted you so badly for so long now."

Alexandra took a deep breath, stretching her legs and pressing her forehead more firmly against his. "I've wanted you, too," she found herself whispering. Her breath ghosted over his face and he felt like shivering; was she actually telling the truth? He could hardly believe it. "Please…" Her hands tugged at his collar and then lightly brushed his neck like she was afraid to really touch him there, or to touch him anywhere. He watched her swallow, watched her eyes shut as she begged, "Please kiss me."

He obliged her happily, bending down to cover her lips with his. His forearms framed her face and lifted her mouth to his. He heard her moan softly when one of his hands slipped back to burrow into her hair, and he could feel one of her hands sneak around to cup his neck impulsively before it quickly retreated back to the front of his shirt. Having had enough of her shyness, he pulled back, breaking the kiss.

He could feel her reluctance in the way her lips strained for his, and it made him smile, if only for a moment. He leaned his forehead against hers, angling his mouth away, and waited for her to open her eyes. When she finally did so, it seemed to take her a couple seconds to adjust. Her brown eyes blinked up at him, big and confused. To assure her that he still wanted her, he bent his chin toward hers, pressing another soft kiss against her lips briefly. Then he took one of her small hands in his and gently pried it away from his shirt. He reached behind her with another, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her body completely flush against his. She gave off a little gasp when their waists connected; he knew she could feel his manhood even through his clothes. It was straining for her, begging, crying out in need. He ignored it, though, for knew he had to take his time, now more than ever.

Slowly, while holding her still tight against him, he lifted her hand up past his shoulders, pressing it against the back of his neck. He watched her swallow, felt the nervousness wafting off her as her fingertips explored his skin and shyly tangled in the short hairs on the back of his neck. Her eyes never left his, and he watched her, too, knowing that she feared she might make a wrong move. Before they went any further, he had to make it clear to her that there were no wrong moves and wanted to watch him for signs of unhappiness.

He lifted his free hand, cupping her cheek and sliding it past her face. He could feel her press her head into his hand when he threaded his long fingers through her silky brown locks. He watched as she bit her lip, closing her eyes. "Do you like that?" He asked softly, massaging her scalp lightly with his fingertips. She nodded, her eyes still closed. He could feel her inch closer to him.

"Yes," she whispered, her lips parted in need.

He smiled even though he knew she couldn't see him. "Good," he murmured, moving closer as well, even though they were as close as could be with their clothes still on. His hand fell away from her waist, reaching for her free one. He took it and guided it to his cheek, past his ear, and into his hair. "I like it, too." He could hear her intake of breath, but when he let go of her hand, it remained pressed into his hair. He returned his hand to its former place, wrapped around her slim waist, and leaned forward.

"There is nothing that you could do that would make me unhappy," he whispered, staring deep into her eyes so she couldn't ignore him. "And there is nothing that you could do that might be wrong." He bent forward, kissing her lips gently. "So please don't be afraid to touch me, in whatever way you want to, whatever way feels right."

"I'm not afraid," she whispered back. Her fingers buried deeper into his hair.

He couldn't help but smile; immediately recalling the fact that she'd said those same exact words on their wedding night. He was overjoyed to be able to truly believe her this time. "I know," he answered honestly.

He leaned forward, dipping his lips to hers. She accepted his kiss more eagerly than she ever had in the past. Her lips moved with his quickly, almost ferociously, having apparently swiftly learnt their part. It was not more than a few seconds before they had to break apart, panting for air. Marcus stepped forward then, causing her to step back, and back, and when her legs hit the end of their bed, he stopped there and rubbed himself against her. She moaned weakly into his mouth; she could feel her womanly channel flood with lubrication to prepare herself for him. She squeezed her thighs together, remembering how large he had been that first night. She was half-sure her desire for him had soaked through her clothes, and she found herself wondering if it would be enough to coat his length. She wondered if he could tell how wet she was, if he knew. She found herself hoping he did, though she wasn't sure why.

"My lord…," she whispered when his hands hugged the curves of her waist. She could barely believe how badly she wanted him. She felt like she would go mad if he didn't have her soon, if they didn't have each other.

"No." He shook his head, cupping her cheek gently with his hand. "None of that tonight, my sweet wife." He caressed her pale skin softly. His blue eyes were open and piercing and Alexandra couldn't shake the feeling that they were staring into her soul. "No more of that now. Call me by my name, and I'll call you by yours."

Alexandra swallowed, feeling heat spread over her body at his simple request. It excited and scared her at the same time; she couldn't decide if she was more eager or nervous. She'd never once called him by his first name while speaking with him. She inhaled a small breath. "Alright," she whispered. She paused a second, before wondering in a whisper, "Could you undo the laces of my dress, my… Marcus?" She corrected at the last second.

She felt her heart flutter when she saw a happy smile spread over his face. "Of course," he murmured. He took one of her hands in his, lifting it up far above her head. "Turn around," he instructed quietly, twirling her body away from his. She did so, giggling a bit when her dress flared out with the movement.

"We should dance like that," she found herself saying, not even thinking before she spoke.

"We can," her husband replied. "Next time, if you want."

"Next time?" She asked in surprise, looking over her shoulder at him.

Marcus smiled. He could hear the confusion in her voice, see the disbelief in her eyes. All of this was so new to her; it was new to him, too, of course, but… The moment they'd kissed tonight, he knew it was right. He knew they would have a happy marriage together. He could see it all spread out before them. They'd made it past the biggest obstacle he was sure either of them would ever encounter—and for that, he figured that they deserved a lifetime of happiness together.

Marcus leaned forward, his lips meeting her gently. He liked the way her nose scrunched with a quiet laugh when his beard scratched her. "We can go to the Festival every year until you get bored of it," he told her. His hand reached up to cup her cheek. "And I'll dance with you whenever you like. Anytime."

She was trying to hide a smile, he saw, but she wasn't succeeding very well. It beamed out from her face, shining with joy. "You'd dance with me?" She wondered, elated and shocked all at once. She couldn't hide the obvious surprise in her voice; she still wasn't completely convinced that he truly enjoyed the practice.

"I'll do anything with you," he answered honestly, his thumb stroking the curve of her cheek. "Anything at all."

.

Marcus knew his wife was nervous.

He could see the hair rising on her arms, see the gooseflesh that covered her skin as she stood completely bare before him with her back facing his front. He knew he had to tread carefully here. He knew he had to be gentle, gentler than ever. He still felt a pain in his chest when he remembered how he'd yelled at her the last time she was naked before him, how she'd cried, and how he'd had to listen to her sob until she fell asleep because he hadn't been able to comfort her. He promised to her silently that she'd never cry again.

"Do you want to wait?" He whispered, even though he knew it was an impossibility—for him, at least. He was sure his cock would burst in the worst of ways if he didn't have her soon. But he forced his lust for her away, reaching down to thread her fingers with his. He could feel her hand shaking even as he held onto it. He listened to her take a deep breath, waiting for her to respond.

"I'm not scared of you," she whispered finally. Even though her body shook, her voice didn't quaver. He knew at once that she was telling the truth.

"I know," he murmured back. "But you were before, and I don't ever want you to be scared of me again." He took a half step closer. The linen of his shirt brushed against her bare back and she shivered immediately.

"I'm not," she replied. "I'm not scared, I'm…" He listened to her gather herself for a second. "I just want you so terribly much," she confessed, anguish in her voice. "And I… I want to be sure that you want me, too. I don't want to do this if you don't want me like I want you. I want this to mean something to the both of us."

Marcus didn't know what to do with the warmth, the hope, and the happiness that flooded through him at her words. He didn't think he'd ever felt this good in his entire life. But then he thought of how she'd doubted him just now. He never wanted her to doubt him again. "Will you look at me?" He asked softly, his voice strained just as taut as his lust-filled body.

Alexandra turned her head, finally catching his eye over her bare shoulder. Marcus stared into her eyes as he spoke.

"I have wanted you," he whispered, his voice gravelly with need, "since the first time I ever saw you. I have wanted you since the moment you lied to me—" Alexandra blushed red, but didn't turn her head away "—I have wanted you since the second you were made my wife. I have wanted you every hour since I met you; before we were married and since." He blinked a few times at her. His hand, still holding hers, squeezed her fingers momentarily. "You don't know how hard it was for me to send you away that night," he whispered, knowing that was one of only many things that plagued her in relation to him. "You don't know how I struggled; how much I wanted to give in to you…"

"You wanted me?" She whispered, shocked. Her dark brown eyes were wide with disbelief. It had never once crossed her mind that he might want her after what had happened that night. She had only thought that she'd repulsed him.

He couldn't help but smile at her. He squeezed her hand again, reaching forward with his other hand to gently stroke the smooth expanse of her left cheek that was turned towards him with his other hand. "Oh, Alexandra," he murmured softly, a smile playing on his lips, "you have no idea how long I've lusted after you."

Alexandra could feel her heart pounding in her chest. It was hammering beneath her breast, sounding in her ears. _Lusted?_ She thought with incredulity. _What in the world is he talking about?_ She turned to face him, wanting to look him fully in the eyes when she asked, "You've… _lusted_ after me?"

She watched her husband's mouth open and close with confusion, watched his eyes go wide. _Why isn't he saying anything?_ Then she realized where his eyes had fallen to. Her cheeks flamed cherry red when she saw that his gaze were focused completely on her breasts. She wondered if she should be embarrassed when her nipples tightened beneath his hungry gaze, but she couldn't bring herself to think of anything except that look in his eyes, that want. That_ lust._

She took his hand, the one wrapped around her own, and lifted it up. She slipped her fingers from his, and before Marcus could do a thing, she'd put his large hand on her small, milky white breast. He shifted his hand once she let go, palming her breast gently. He couldn't believe he was touching her like this. His eyes searched her face, vigilant for fear or unhappiness, but all he saw where her teeth digging into her lower lip. All he could see was the silent pleasure covering her young face. She looked so incredibly beautiful; he could barely breathe.

"Oh!" She whimpered aloud when his thumb brushed back and forth over her pert nipple. Her eyes found his, darker and more intense than he'd ever seen them. When she reached for his second hand, he knew exactly what she wanted.

With both his hands on her breasts now, he alternated, squeezing one, thumbing the other; he stimulated her until he felt her fingers reaching for him. He couldn't help the little jolt of surprise that went through his body when he felt her hands reaching forward to unlace his shirt. He hadn't expected her to be so bold, but he loved this side of her. It was so much like the feisty woman who had yelled at him in the woods just an hour ago.

But almost as quickly as he thought that, her hands drew away, falling back to her sides as she realized what she'd been about to do. Immediately, he reached for her, not willing to let her run away. He could see the fear, the worry, plain in her eyes. He wanted to tell her again that there was no wrong way for her to touch him, but he knew actions would speak louder than words. Instead of vocalizing his wishes, he leaned forward and kissed her. He took her hands in his, pressing them against his chest, tugging on the laces himself. One of his hands slipped into her hair when he felt her beginning to untie the strings, slow but steady, encouraged by his own movements.

Alexandra's breathing was labored even before he starting kissing her that deeply. She slipped her hands beneath the fabric of his shirt, trailing her hands all over his naked chest, touching his clearly defined muscles and skimming her fingers over the light dusting of brown hair on his chest. She knew she shouldn't be so free with her hands, but she couldn't help herself. His skin felt so good, so warm, underneath her fingertips. They felt alive—_she _felt alive—when she touched him.

Marcus shrugged out of his shirt without a word, letting it and the vest that had been resting atop it fall to the floor along with her dress. He met her eye for a moment before he lowered his hands to the waistline of his breeches. Slowly, his eyes flickering to hers the entire time, he undid the few laces. He could hear his wife's breath catch when his manhood sprung free, long and hard and desperate for the hot wetness she kept hidden deep between her legs.

Mark swallowed, his mouth suddenly running dry. His eyes remained trained on her for a long moment before he finally averted them as he bent down to take off the rest of his clothes. When he straightened back up, she was sitting on the bed, her bum resting farther back on the thick covers and her legs hanging off the sides. He could feel his cock weep when he saw that she'd already spread her legs for him. He could swear some of his manly fluid leaked onto the ground when he saw just how wet she was. Her female center glistened even in the darkness.

He wanted to say something, wanted to tell her how he felt, but she'd stolen his voice.

After a long minute of silence, she whispered softly, "Please come here." He could do nothing but obey her plea—though to him, it was an order. Gingerly, he kneeled above her on the bed. With each advance he made towards her, she scooted back—though they both knew it wasn't because she feared him. She had a smile on her face the entire time, and her hands had even grown so bold to cup the thick muscles of his upper arms without prompting. When they finally reached the middle of the bed, he bent down and kissed her deeply. Her arms wrapped around him, keeping his body close as if she was afraid he would slip away.

She gasped aloud, her mouth breaking from his momentarily, when his fingers began to tease her drenched opening. "Marc—" His name was swallowed in another gasped as he slowly pushed a finger inside her, just up to the second digit. "Oh," she moaned, shifting beneath him. "Marcus, oh, _oh, Marc—!"_

Marcus grinned to himself, proud that she hadn't even been able to utter his full name while he was pleasuring her. Her hands clutched desperately his arms as he held himself above her, moving his fingers gently yet purposefully within her.

"Mar…," Alexandra mumbled, her head turning from side to side. "Marcus, please…" Her voice trailed off, being replaced by moans, as his fingers stroked at her engorged nub. Her back arched up off the bed, desperate more. "Oh, please," she whispered, feeling her pleasure mount rapidly as it had before. She couldn't believe this was happening again—nor could she believe how wonderful it felt, even a second time. "Marucs, Mark, Mark, I—" Her words broke off as she let out a high-pitched squeak. Again, her sticky inner juices flooded all of his hand. Alexandra could feel them trickling from her body, down her thighs, as she lay panting beneath him.

When she managed to gather herself minutes later and open her eyes to gaze up at him, there was a sleep, lazy smile on her face. Marcus smiled back as he stared down at her. Softly, he brushed her hair back from her forehead, cupping her flushed cheek and kissing her lingeringly. He pulled back reluctantly, never quite willing to let his lips be separated from hers. "Alexandra," he whispered between kisses, "do you think you're ready for me, sweet girl?"

She swallowed, nodding. She wished her heart didn't speed up at the thought of him being inside her again. She didn't know why she was so nervous. He'd already pleasured her twice tonight with his fingers—how could his cock be any different? But she remember the blood on the sheets and the sharp prick of pain when he'd first shoved himself inside her, and she knew there certainly was somethingto be nervous about. She swallowed, steeling herself.

Lightly, her hands rose from his arms to his neck, to cupping his cheeks. "Mark," she whispered, watching his eyes zero in on hers. Her lips flickered into a smile at his attentions, and she reached up to rest her hands on either side of his neck. He was warm; hot, almost. She suddenly wanted to press herself against him and take in his heat, all of it. "Can I call you that?" She whispered, staring at him with those wide brown eyes that made him forget who he was. "Can I call you Mark?"

He leaned down, pressing his bare chest against hers. "You can call me whatever you like," he whispered, his hand trailing down her side. "Whatever you like," he murmured, ducking his head down to hers. She leaned up, and let their foreheads touch. She closed her eyes, and slowly ran her hands from his neck to his cheeks, and back down again, to his shoulders.

"Lexie," she whispered softly, pressing her forehead against his. She could feel his eyes on her, feel him staring at her as easily as she witnessed it before. But she continued, staring down at his chest all the while. She lowered a hand to trace patterns over his skin as she spoke. "My—My sister Meredith calls me that, and I've—I've always hated it, but…" She bit her lip, and slowly, cautiously, lifted her eyes to meet his. His gaze was so intense it took her a moment to remember what she was speaking of. "If you'd like, you… you could call me that, too." She paused, suddenly nervous. "Only if you want," she finished in an embarrassed whisper, suddenly thinking she'd pushed their recent familiarity too far for his comfort.

He smiled at her, though, slow and sure. She smiled back nervously, and felt her knees go weak when he leaned forward to kiss her. "What if…" He pulled back slowly, never parting from her—his arms were around her, their foreheads were pressed together. "What if I like calling you Alexandra?"

She blushed, smiling. She had never been particularly fond of her name, but if _he_ liked it… "You… You can call me that too," she whispered softly. She paused, eyeing him as she bit her lip. She hadn't cared if he did or didn't like her nickname, but she'd already found herself becoming fond of his. "Can I… May I still call you Mark?" She wondered quietly.

He smiled, repeating, "Call me whatever you like," before drawing her close for a long kiss.

When she felt his hips angle themselves closer to hers a few seconds later, she knew the moment of truth would come soon. She tried to breath normally. She tried not to clutch him too tight with her hands and nails.

"It may hurt again," he whispered to her, and it was then that Lexie realized that her husband sounded as nervous as she felt. She stared up at him, confused as to how such a confident and powerful man could be so worried. And about _taking a woman, _no less. Wasn't this supposed to be one of his areas of expertise?

"It won't," she whispered back, soft as a feather, hoping to do away with his fears.

But he only shook his head. "Alexandra," he began, "it is likely that—"

"It won't _hurt_," she cut in, determined now, "because you won't _let _it hurt." Her brown eyes seemed to challenge him in the dark room. "_Will_ you, Marcus?" She prompted, never taking her eyes off of him. Her stared back at her, wondering what to say. He couldn't promise it wouldn't hurt—he couldn't lie to her. He knew it would hurt. It had to. He didn't know how gentle he could be with her again… But with those big brown eyes staring up at him, waiting for his answer…

"No," he whispered, his voice as hushed as the silent night, "I won't let it hurt. I swear to you." He bent down, pressing a kiss to her right temple and then her left.

She smiled up at him, running her fingers over his bearded cheeks. "I believe you," she whispered, staring into his eyes. She lifted her head to kiss him. "I do."

"I'll go slow this time," he promised, wanting to reassure her as much as he could, even with the pain coming.

She shook her head, not needing that. "Marcus, you don't have t—"

His look was enough to silence her. "I'll go slow," he repeated, firmer this time so as to not encourage argument from her. She didn't press him, remembering how the blood and tears last time had scared him off for months and months. She couldn't wait that long anymore, not for this. Not again, not after what he'd already give her tonight. She needed more, and she needed it now.

She nodded, acquiescing. "Go slow, then."

He bent down to kiss her, and she arched her back when his hands trailed up her sides. They slipped beneath her back, intent to just linger there, but when she moaned into the kiss—he had brought his tongue into it—he couldn't help but clutch her close. His arms wrapped around her back, so strongly that she could feel the muscles in his forearms flexing as he held her. She remembered that first day, and how she'd wanted to feel the strength in his arms. She felt it now, and delighted in it. Her tongue snuck out to join his, and soon she wasn't the only one moaning.

He positioned himself at her entrance, rubbing his cock up and down the sensitive bundle of nerves that framed that enchanting entrance to her beautiful body. She moaned and threw her head back as he teased her, but it all had a purpose. When she looked wet enough, he finally relented, angling his hips subtly away from hers while leaning forward to meet her eye.

"Tell me when it hurts," he instructed, breaking their kiss with a half-gasp. Though she wanted to tell him it wouldn't, she knew better than to argue. She just stared up at him, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck, and waited to feel him.

True to his word, he went as slow as could be. At first, she wasn't even sure if that was his manhood probing her slick entrance. But then she felt him—really felt him—and she couldn't help her body from clenching tight in anticipation. She suddenly remembered what it'd felt like the first time he'd taken her—how she'd begged him to come back when he'd left. She did not know why, exactly, she had wanted him so badly that first time; she had had no idea what that great pleasure would feel like, but still, she had yearned for him, even just a piece of him. She had felt… _better, _that first time,once he was inside her.

This time was no different.

Marcus hissed when he finally slid inside her, cursing under his breath about how tight a fit she was.

Alexandra smiled, trying to catch her breath and keep her wits about her as the pleasure started to mount in her core. "Maybe if you'd taken me more oft, I would be as loose as you like," she teased him breathlessly.

He grinned, smirking at the way she'd misconstrued his words. Only one as inexperienced as her might have drawn that conclusion. A woman who'd had her fair share of men knew that they liked their cocks to be squeezed tight, never more so than when inside a woman. He suddenly wondered why he'd wasted so many years with whores and women of near loose enough reputation as to be considered near the same. He was at least glad that his encounters with them had, in just the smallest way, prepared him for his wife. "I love the way you feel around me now," he explained, intent not to tease her… though he would relish seeing that blush stain her cheeks again. "But I don't know if I can stay away from you after this."

"Then don't," she whispered.

He smiled, and bent down to kiss her languidly. "I won't." He looked her in the eyes with that smile still playing on his lips. "That's a promise."

When he left her again, and then pushed back inside, he could hear her suck in a breath. He stilled at once, demanding to know if she was hurt. "Are you alright?" He asked, his blue eyes bright and wide with worry.

Lexie's head spun as she came back to earth. "So much better than alright," she whispered. She clenched herself around him, flexing her muscles languidly—the way one stretches after waking—and Marcus had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning aloud. "I've dreamed about this," she whispered softly, so softly that Marcus wasn't even sure he was supposed to hear it.

Instead of commenting, he began to withdraw from her slowly. She began whimpering like a needy kitten when he was not more than halfway out of her; in a flash, he was completely inside her again. Though it did wonderful things to him, he truly hated hearing her beg right now.

"You feel so good," she whispered, and her hands moved to grip his biceps as he slowly thrust his hard cock in and out of her slick channel. "So good in… inside me."

He couldn't help but smile, and shifted closer as he held himself above her. "You feel good too." He leaned down and kissed her, and just as she was pulling away to ask it of him, he began moving more quickly inside her. She groaned, deep in her throat and deep in the kiss, and his fingers burrowed into her hair to tug her ever closer in return as he continued thrusting.

Her breath caught in a gasp a few minutes later when he plunged even deeper, and hit a special spot inside her that she hadn't even known was there. "_OH!_" She cried out a single word, not having enough breath for more.

He automatically stilled inside of her, certain he'd hurt her again. "What?" He wondered hurriedly. "What is it?"

"Nothing, keep going!" She groaned aloud when he refused to move within her. "Marcus, I promise, it was nothing; it felt good, _so_ good, I…" She sucked in a breath, and rubbed herself against him, desperate for movement. "I beg you, please, keep going!"

He shook his head, crouching over her more completely. "You never have to beg," he told her. "Never."

She didn't seem to even hear his words, for the next phrase that came out of her mouth was nothing short of another plea. "Marcus, _please_…!"

"What do you need?" He whispered, his voice husky and rough with arousal now. "Tell me what you need, sweet wife. I'll give you anything you need."

"You," she whispered, her eyes going wide as she suddenly remembered her brother-in-law's words from before her wedding. _You will want for nothing, if it is in his power to give it to you. _She shivered, despite the heat he was giving her. She had never expected, at that time, that Derek Shepherd would prove to be an honest, good man. "I need you."

His eyes grew very warm as they stared down at her. "You have me," he whispered, just before capturing her mouth with his and trailing his hand down to flick her nub. She mumbled again and again, getting increasingly more incoherent as her pleasure rose and rose. She cried for him again and again, and he gave her all she asked for. She was his wife and he would not make her beg.

"Come for me, Alexandra," he whispered in her ear when he could feel she was teetering on the brink. "Come for me, my sweet wife."

"C—Come for you?" She wondered aloud, confused. Her eyes struggled to open and find his. "Where?"

He smiled, pressing a hurried kiss to her cheek. He didn't think her inexperience would ever stop endearing her to him. "Here," he whispered. His fingers settled over her sensitive nub above the apex of her thighs. "Now."

He squeezed it ever so gently, and yet, she flew apart with a strangled cry, her body spasming beneath his. He could do nothing but follow her example after a couple more thrusts, grunting through his release as he spilled his seed deep inside her womb.

.

His body collapsed immediately afterward, crushing hers into the mattress. Marcus groaned aloud, knowing he had to move but not quite having the strength at this moment in time. He felt so drained, so empty, so… relieved. He knew if she could see her face, there would be maniacal grin on his lips. He had never felt so fulfilled, so satisfied… He closed his eyes, burrowing his face deeper into his neck. He pressed his lips against her sweat-slicked skin, kissing again and again and again in place of words. Eventually, though, he knew he had to pull back—and he did so, albeit with great reluctance.

"Stay," she whispered the second she felt him stirring to move a minute later, "stay here. Please. With me." Her quiet voice pled, "Just a moment more, husband, please."

He smiled into her shoulder, kissing her sweat-slicked skin one last time before lifting his head to look into her eyes. He couldn't stamp out the rising adoration in his heart—did she truly not want him to leave? He would never question her if that was really what she wanted. "On you or in you, my lady?" He wondered happily.

"Both," she whispered, and he could almost feel the heat from the blush that colored her cheeks. Nonetheless, she continued, her hands shakily reaching up to cup his face lightly. "Always both," she decreed, and he obeyed.

.

"I like these nights more so than the others," she admitted softly, long after their bodies had parted as they lay side by side on the mattress.

"Which nights?" Marcus murmured, his eyes closed as he lay back against the pillows. He couldn't ever remember feeling so good as he felt in this moment. Since that first night together, he never once thought that he'd share another moment like this one with her. His eyes blinked open, finding hers. A small smile sprouted on his lips immediately, just at the sight of her. She was so beautiful—her dark hair, still damp from perspiration; her dark eyes, ever looking into his; and that wonderful smile that played on her red lips…

"The ones when the servants are all gone," she replied. "When it's quiet and still through every part of the castle." She paused, and then whispered, so softly that he barely heard it, "Like our wedding night."

He swallowed, hearing her silent message: _When we're completely alone._ He suddenly became much more aware of the beating of his heart in his chest. He could not remember a time when they had spoken so much together, nor learned so much about each other. He didn't want to ruin this unreal moment. "You mean when you can moan as loud as you'd like," he teased.

He breathed a sight of relief when she smiled, happy that he'd played it off correctly. He would press her about the serious side later, when it was not so grave a subject hanging between them. "That is also true," she replied with a chuckle. Her eyes sparkled then, and he saw something almost mischievous in their dark brown depths when he looked at her.

"What?" He wondered.

"With the servants gone…" She moved closer to him. "Do you know what else we can do?"

"Make our own supper?" He smirked, amused, watching with interested as she moved even closer to him across the sheets. "Clean our own house? Tend to the gardens?"

Her lips pressed together, trying to hide a smile as she neared him. When she took a breath, her naked breasts brushed against his bare chest, and then soon enough her body was flush against his again. When her leg shifted atop his leg, he knew where her hidden smile would lead them. He was all too happy to follow. "If you would like… We could go to another room to…" She lowered her voice, even though there was no one around to overhear. "…do it." Her eyes flickered to the door. "You could… take me wherever you desired me."

He immediately grew hard at the thought, and stared at her in wonder. "How is it that you _always _know how to arouse me—or at least seem to know—and yet, you remain somehow _completely_ oblivious of the effect it has on me?"

She smiled, laughing. When she tried to lean away for his benefit, he held her close. "I honestly don't know what I'm doing," she laughed. Her dark eyes flickered to his. "Why don't you tell me, though, when I do something that makes you desire me?" Her eyes sparkled even in the darkness. "I could keep a list."

"It will be a very long list," he murmured, bending forward to kiss her.

She accepted his kiss immediately, her hands moving to cup his cheeks and neck. When they had to break for air, he asked breathlessly, "Why do you want to leave this room?" It was clear from his tone he'd be quite alright doing it in the exact same place again.

Alexandra bit her lip as false memories floated before her eyes; his lips on her neck, her mouth, and his body pressing hers against the stacks… She took a breath, forcing herself to calm down. When she met his eyes, he smiled, stroking her cheek as he waited for an answer.

"I just…" She blushed, looking down as she recalled those fantasies for the hundredth time. "Well, I've imagined us together in other places besides this bedroom, to be honest."

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_Author's Note: Reviews would be greatly appreciated. I hope you all liked this chapter. I'll be posting the next installment of _Touch Me _very soon. Thank you all so much for reading._


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20:**

_FNN Author's Note: _Olimpia: Thank you so much for your wonderful review! I am so happy you liked this chapter! Your review brought such a big smile to my face. Again, thank you, my friend. :D

Author's Note: Wow, you guys. I know it's been a while, but thank you all SO MUCH for your amazing reviews on the last chapter! Every single one made me smile and I treasure your guys' support and love of this story so much. It means the world to me. That being said, I really do apologize for taking so long with this chapter. School and life just gets in the way sometimes, but still, I wish I could've found time to update in the last few weeks.

Thankfully, the chapter is finally here—rejoice! ;)

Please enjoy… :)

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Alexandra led the way to the library, one of her hands clutching a sheet around her bare body as the other held his large hand in her light grasp. She smiled secretly to herself at the way their fingers fit together. His were bigger, of course, and hers were slender, but they slid in between each other almost perfectly nonetheless.

The two travelled in silence, making their way down turning staircases and through various hallways with hardly a sound. The only noise that accompanied their journey was the soft rustle of the sheet wrapped around Alexandra's body as it dragged behind her along the floor.

Though she knew she shouldn't, Alexandra couldn't help but steal quick glances at her husband, who was walking alongside her completely naked. Every time she looked at him, she felt her skin heat up, though now it was due more to embarrassment than anything else.

She had suggested that he should put on something to cover himself when they'd risen from the bed to depart, but he had refused, claiming that there was no one to see him but her—and what was there that she hadn't seen already? When she had pressed him a second time, her cheeks flaming because she could spot his manhood so easily—and because her eyes were so drawn to it—he told her if she wanted him to wear clothes so badly, she could put them on him herself. Alexandra had shied away from the challenge, mutely wrapping the sheet around her body tighter as she made her way to the door. If he wouldn't cover himself, at least she could make sure her nakedness was hidden from view. As she had passed by him on the way to the door, he had reached out, grabbing her hand and holding it within his. She was surprised at the way he tangled their finger together so intimately; instead of her palm resting against the back of his hand, he separated her fingers with his own so their palms were pressed close against one another's and their fingers entwined.

Alexandra squeezed his hand tight now, praying for courage and calmness as they approached the door to the library. They hadn't spoken since they'd left the bedroom, and the silence was starting to make Alexandra nervous. What if he didn't approve? What if he thought she was sinful and indecent for thinking such things? What if he hated her for it? What if he went back to not wanting to have anything to do with her?

As they stopped in front of the wooden door, Alexandra reluctantly untangled her hand from his so she could turn the knob. She knew there was nothing frightening behind that door—she'd spent hours a day there these past few months—but still, her fingertips trembled uncontrollably as they touched the polished brass. She had no idea what she'd do if he went back to hating her, to ignoring her. She couldn't live without him now that she'd had a real taste of what her life was supposed to be like. She clutched the sheet around her body tight as she pushed open the door, holding her breath all the while as she waited for his judgment.

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Marcus looked around the room as the door swung open, surprised. Of all the places in the entire house where she could've imagined them together, she picked… the library?

He stared at the walls of shelves that surrounded them, trying to puzzle out what he was feeling. He hadn't been in this room in years, disregarding the brief few moments he'd visited her in the last couple months, and he had been happy to keep it that way. This room was another reminder of a childhood he'd rather forget—another reminder that said childhood could never be wholly forgotten.

"You used to come here daily," he noted quietly, taking a few more steps inside. Their joined hands pulled her along with him, and though she was so nervous she thought she might retch, the movement calmed her. Save for earlier tonight, she hadn't felt so attached to him in months. She liked being towed along by him, liked letting him lead her where he would. She smiled to herself, amused at how that notion would've terrified her just a few weeks ago, possibly even a few days.

But everything was different now.

"I did," Alexandra nodded, confirming his statement as she gazed at the rows and rows of books that lined every wall. She smiled reflexively at his implementation of the term _used to, _and her own utilization of the past tense_._ It seemed like it was ages ago that they spent their days apart and their nights practically in separate beds. She could not imagine going back to that; no, never. Not after tonight. "I've always liked to read," she explained, struggling to break the silence and anxiety that was welling up inside her as she once again realized the reason they were here. "I've never… never seen a library as impressive as yours." She didn't need to add that her family's was much smaller, practically nonexistent. Meredith and Laura rarely read, and spending money on supplying one daughter with knowledge she'd never need in her married life hadn't been a priority when coin started becoming scarce.

"I inherited most of it." Marcus turned his head, and tugged at her hand. When she stepped closer, he drew their entwined fingers to his lips and kissed them. "But it's ours now, remember," he told her, kissing the knuckles of her pale white hand, "not just mine."

Alexandra felt like beaming at that, but she pressed her lips closed to contain herself. Still, her heart soared beneath her breast, thumping away. She realized she could easily grow accustomed to hearing him talk like that. "I'll remember," she promised, knowing she'd never forget to start with.

He smiled, leaning closer to her and pressing his forehead against hers. "So nervous," he grinned in amusement, cupping her cheek with a free hand and pressing his lips to hers. His scratchy beard roughed up her smooth skin, and it made her already satisfied woman's place tingle with arousal again. It amazed her how much she wanted him again, still, after all he'd given her. "Why so nervous, Alexandra?" He smirked, the lights in his eyes dancing suggestively. "It isn't as if we haven't done this before, dear."

She blushed, ducking her head so he wouldn't see. "I know," she whispered, staring at the carpet beneath them. "I just…" She swallowed. She would admit it. She _had_ to. "This is different."

His head was tilted to the side when she looked back up. "How so?"

She bit down hard on her lower lip, wondering what to say. What _was _there to say? She couldn't tell him the truth. She couldn't. It was humiliating and, despite what Meredith had told her, it still felt wrong. She couldn't admit what she'd done, what she'd thought—not to him. She wouldn't be able to bear it if he left her now for such a stupid mistake. She'd have nobody to blame but herself when he abandoned her this time, and that would make everything so much worse.

"Speak," he ordered, kissing her lips briefly to loosen her lower lip from her teeth. "Tell me how it's different, Alexandra. I want to know."

"It… It just is," she replied, struggling to breathe and act normally with his face and body so close to hers. She tried not to take not of the fact that she could reach out and touch him, really touch him…

"Do I need to persuade you?" He wondered, a smirk turning up his lips as his eyes roamed over her face. Though she knew he meant it jovially, a part of her was still filled with fear and trepidation. She knew she had to tell him. He'd never stop asking, and she was certain there would never be a more apt time than now to tell him… She wished she didn't care what he thought, but his opinion of her was, of course, all that she ever cared about. His opinion was the only one that mattered in the world.

"I…" She took a deep breath, choosing a spot on his shoulder to stare at so she wouldn't have to meet what she knew would be his judging eyes. "I've always liked to read, like I said." She began quietly, slowly, but soon the words were escaping her mouth in a rush for she was so desperate to get them out, "but—but a few times when I was here, well more than a few, I… I hadn't exactly been reading. I, I tried, you know, I _tried_ to—to forget what was happening in my mind, but—"

"What," Marcus interrupted, confused, "was happening in your mind?" He stepped closer to her, a hand lifting her chin so he could look her in the eyes. "Alexandra, are you alright?" He wondered. He tried to keep his voice soft, but worry and nervousness put a steely edge to it. _Have I driven her insane by abandoning her all these months?_ Concern filled his eyes and heart; he couldn't help but feel responsible for whatever mental or emotional pain he'd caused her. He hadn't meant to. He'd just been trying to protect her.

"Do you promise you won't be angry with me?" Alexandra's tiny, scared voice cut through to him, and it only made his worries multiply. His eyes narrowed, confused and concerned, as he stared down at her.

"Why would I be angry?" He wondered.

Alexandra didn't meet his eyes. Nevertheless, he continued staring at her, watching as she sucked in a large breath before she launched into her tale again. "It, It was just a daydream at first, I promise. I didn't mean to. It just—it came into my mind and I couldn't… couldn't help it, couldn't help feeling what I felt. I…" Her voice lowered to the softest, most nervous whisper. He could barely hear her when she admitted, humiliated, "I enjoyed it."

Marcus opened his mouth, preparing to respond, but nothing came to mind. He didn't even know what she was talking about. _Enjoyed what?_ "Alexandra, what are you talking about?"

She shook her head. "It's nothing. Please forget about it."

"No," he countered forcefully. He shook his head when her eyes rose to his, shocked and scared. "It's not nothing," he told her, reaching up to cup her delicate cheeks in his large hands. "And I'm not forgetting." His eyes bored into hers. "Tell me what you're talking about, Alexandra. Why are we here?"

Though he could tell she wanted desperately to look away, she managed to hold his gaze as she admitted, "We're here because this is where it always happens. This is where you kiss me and I kiss you back and we…" Her voice trailed off, and Marcus stared at her, more confused now than ever.

"I… I don't understand," he began slowly. "We… We've never kissed in here."

"In my head we have. In my head, we've… we've done so much more than kiss in here."

Marcus blinked, staring into her large brown eyes, and suddenly it all slid into place. "You've been… fantasizing about me?" He managed. When he blinked again, the image of her on her knees before him flashed through his mind. _Oh, gods have mercy… _"Here?" He practically choked out the word, he was so overwhelmed. How was it even possible that she thought about him the way he thought about her? Of all the women he'd ever met, he would think she was the last—and possibly one of the few—to harbor such secret wants about him, or about anyone. "You've—You've imagined me having you _here_?" He couldn't expel the shock from his tone.

"I asked you not to be angry," she whispered, her voice sounding strangled with tears. She knew she had no right to request that of him, but she couldn't help herself from pleading for it. "Please, I asked—"

He ducked forward, disregarding her words, and slammed his lips against hers. He knew he should be gentle, but it was impossible—_she's been fantasizing about me_. Marcus could hardly believe it. For months and months, he'd thought it was only a one-way attraction. He thought he repulsed her, terrified her…

.

Alexandra's head was spinning. She'd been so focused on telling him, of actually admitting what she'd done, that she hadn't even stopped to think about how he would react. She'd expected him to angry. But this—he was kissing her now as if his life depended on it. His tongue was in her mouth and his hands were pushing the sheet away from her body and she could do nothing except submit to him, pulling him closer and encouraging him when she could.

She gasped aloud when he pressed her bare body against the shelves, her mind going wild and her heart beating with abandon. She could feel his hardness against her, hard and long, and she wanted him inside her again already. She wanted him to fill her and stretch her little body, to bring her all those pleasures she'd never known until him. She could hear him breathing before her; she could feel him chest expanding and contracting up against hers. Slowly, she willed her eyes to open. A smile spread across her lips when she caught sight of him immediately—his eyes were bright and active, and when he pressed his forehead against hers and opened his mouth, they turned so very tender.

"You," he whispered, staring right into her eyes, "are such a wonderful woman."

Alexandra swallowed, resisting the urge to lift her hands and check if her ears were stuffed with cotton. Had she heard him correctly? Her, wonderful? Wasn't she horrible? Immoral? Unworthy of being his wife? "I am?" She couldn't help but ask. Her voice squeaked with surprise and disbelief.

He smiled, nodding, as he bent forward to kiss her again. "Yes," he murmured between kisses. "You are so… so unlike anyone I've ever known." Marcus pressed himself closer to her, cupping her cheeks and tangling his long fingers in her hair. Still, he couldn't get close enough to her. He wanted to be inside her. He wanted her all the time.

And she—_somehow—_wanted him back.

He shook his head slowly, back and forth, still not able to grasp it all. Why did she want _him_?

"Is that bad?" She whispered into the silent room. Alexandra couldn't help but feel nervous still. She wondered how long it would take for her doubts to leave her. She wondered when she would start trusting him implicitly like a good wife would. "Is that bad that I'm not like anyone else you've known? Should I…" Her mind raced, searching for ways to remedy the situation if it was indeed undesirable. But a moment later, to her quiet shock and unbridled relief and happiness, he made her worries unnecessary.

"I have waited," he began slowly, caressing her cheek with his hand, "I have waited so long for someone like you. Someone different, someone unique. Someone who would make me feel alive again." He blinked, staring at her, oblivious to her awe at his words for the awe he felt himself was overwhelming him. He cupped both her cheeks in his hands, lifting her face so he could look directly into her eyes. He shook his head slowly, still not able to fathom it all. "To think I agreed to marry some stranger—who could've been anyone in the entire kingdom—and I ended up with _you_."

Alexandra swallowed, nervous. She still wasn't sure he thought their marriage a good thing. But when she saw that big grin break out across his face, she couldn't help but smile back. "I'm happy to be with you, too," she replied, her hands reaching up to grab onto his wrists. She clutched them tight, lifting her heels off the ground to elevate herself closer to him. "Happier than I ever thought I'd be."

He smiled, bending forward to kiss her. "Good," he murmured against her lips. It was the last coherent word that was spoken for a long while.

.

If her husband's hands hadn't been on her and his manhood hadn't been inside her, Alexandra would've thought she'd gone mad from fever. She couldn't catch her breath. She couldn't slow her heartbeat. She couldn't think. Her skin was on fire.

He paused repeatedly, always asking her if he should stop or slow down, but each time he did, she urge him on, more impatient as time went on.

Marcus tried to be as gentle as possible with her, but it was proving harder and harder to achieve as their pleasure grew and grew. He couldn't stop his hips from pumping against hers with an increasing ferocity; he couldn't stop the rough, desperate way he kissed her. He simply couldn't stop. He worried every moment that she would cry out in pain, that she'd force him away and they'd go back to their separate, lonely existences.

But she never did.

In fact, to his constant astonishment, she did the exact opposite. From the moment he pinned her up against that shelving, she was moaning. Her inner thighs were already slick, soaked with desire by the time he tested her with his fingers.

"Mark…" She moaned his nickname like an entranced woman, desperate for one thing and one thing only. He could barely believe how much she wanted him. He had never suspected she was able to hold so much pent-up desire inside her. Come to think of it, he hadn't thought _any _woman was capable of such want… He realized he really had been right when he spoke of how unique she was. He'd never met anyone like her. "Marcus, please." Stranger still, he couldn't believe she was baring it all for him to see. The notion that she trusted him—really, truly trusted him with something like this—made happier than he would have ever expected he would feel. He longed to return the favor. He wanted to make her as happy as he possibly could. He wanted to memorize every sigh and gasp that escaped her body; he wanted to know what every whimper and caress meant. He wanted to be able to please her without having to make her ask.

He wanted to know her body, her mind, inside and out.

"Is this what you dreamed of?" He whispered in her ear, his voice ragged with exertion, as he hadn't stopped pumping himself inside her. "Is this it?"

"Mm," she whimpered, nodding vigorously. "Yes. Yes, this, exactly this!"

He laughed shortly, stepping closer and spreading her body more fully before his as he bent his head to his neck. Her back arched from the shelves as he sucked on her collarbone. "Your skin," he murmured, trailing kisses across her neck to her mouth, "is so smooth."

"Do you…" Alexandra took a second to breathe. Her chest was heaving; her breath came in loud gasps. "Do you like smooth?"

"I like you," Marcus replied at once, sneaking a hand under her knee to hitch her leg around his waist. He withdrew himself from her nearly the whole way before pushing him back inside. He half groaned at how much tighter she gripped him this time around; her body was so nubile and untested… if she let him, he would make her as experienced as any woman his age in a matter of nights. He wanted nothing more than to bring her pleasure upon pleasure, something he knew she hadn't known before their wedding night. It made him more happy and more proud than he'd ever felt in his life that he'd been the first—and hopefully the only—to bring her such pleasure.

Alexandra sucked in a breath when he pushed inside her after adjusting their position. As his cock pushed deeply inside of her, she couldn't help but cry out at the feeling that washed over her body. She could swear she saw sunbursts in her vision; she squeezed her eyes shut as she concentrated on the feelings his deep penetration evoked in her. "Oh," she whimpered again and again. "Oh, oh, Marcus, oh…" She knew she was getting close—_so _close—to her release, and she simultaneously couldn't wait and wanted to wait forever. She comforted herself with the fact that he would be inside her again, hopefully tomorrow night, but she didn't know if they'd ever have another chance to live out this particular fantasy. She wanted to make it last as long as possible.

"Does that feel good?" Marcus wondered, his breathing heavy and hot now, flushing her skin as it wafted over her chest and neck. "Does it, Alexandra?"

"So… so good," she mumbled, her mind barely able to comprehend the question. She was lucid enough to know she had to answer in the affirmative so that he would continue, but that was the length of it. She didn't have the brainpower to think on anything else.

"Is this what you wanted?" He pressed a kiss to her cheek, her ear. He could taste sweat on her skin when he kissed her, and her hair had started to become damp. He knew he was exhausting her but he wanted to make this night as memorable as possible for her. "Is this how you imagined us?"

"I…" Alexandra could barely think straight. She shut her eyes to try to concentrate. Was this how she'd imaged the two of them together? She wasn't even sure anymore. But one thing she did know for certain was that the reality surpassed her daydreams in every category. She had never felt like this in her entire life. She had never felt so… so completely consumed by a feeling before—a feeling different from fear, that is. She had never felt _this good _in her entire life. And it was all because of him.

She opened her eyes, immediately finding his in front of her. His bright blue irises zeroed in on her pupils, tracking her eyes as they moved frantically over his face. "This is so much better," she whispered, barely audible amid the racket they were making with their thrusting bodies. "This is so much better than any of my dreams." Her hands reached forward, clutching his neck and his shoulder as she tried to angle her lower half to take him even deeper. She knew the maneuver had worked when he groaned in pleasure; the sound made her swell with pride at being able to evoke it from him. "It's better because it's real," she whispered, never tearing her eyes from his.

Her quiet, heartfelt words drove him on, and in just a few seconds, he had her screaming loud enough to wake the dead, her body spasming against him as her center gushed its sweet nectar all around him. His deep yell followed right after hers, and his body collapsed against hers as his seed spilled inside her. Only the sound of their ragged, labored breathing could be heard in the room as they slowly came down from their heights of pleasure.

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Alexandra didn't know how he managed it, carrying her all the way from the library up to their bedroom, but she didn't ask questions or wonder after his tiredness. She was beyond exhausted, but he, she knew, was used to such vigorous activity. She wondered if she'd ever grow used to it, and then blushed, tucking her head into his chest. There was no reason for her to wonder after something like that.

Marcus laid her down onto their bed gently, allowing the sheet wrapped around her body to cushion her as he set her down. He felt an involuntary smile turn up his lips as he stared down at her. Naked and swaddled in white cloth as she was, she looked something like a newborn baby. For half a second—just half a second—he wondered if their daughter would look like her, if they had one. He stared down at her, mesmerized by her beauty. He could only hope they'd have a daughter, not a son, so someone who would be able to carry on her good looks within the confines of the gender required. Any daughter born from her would be so very beautiful.

When he blinked, he came back to earth. He shook his head, clearing it, and banished thoughts of children from his mind. He didn't want children. He'd never wanted children. He took a breath, realizing he'd have to have a talk with her about that soon. She was probably already making plans, he knew, but they couldn't come to fruition. He'd be a terrible father. He wondered how he'd be able to tell her without letting her think he didn't want to have children because of her. There was a reason why he had avoided marriage as long as he had. She would see that, wouldn't she? It had nothing to do with her. If he were a different man, he would have loved to have endless babies with her. But seeing as he was who he was—it simply was not a good idea. It would only harm the children in the end.

"Marcus?" Alexandra murmured, shifting in bed to look up at him. She was surprised he was still standing there; wasn't he going to lie down as well? "Are you going to come to bed?" She wondered tiredly, blinking sleepily up at him. Out of the corner of her eye as she rounded the bed, she saw him nod. Relieved that he'd join her in a moment, she nestled her head against a nearby pillow and pulled the blankets up around her shoulders. It was cold in the room without a fire going, and she knew it would only start getting colder and colder as the fall crept closer and closer.

Her eyes followed his every movement as he laid down in bed next to her. She couldn't stop a lazy smile from turning up the corner of her lips. She wondered if he had any idea what it meant that he was lying down next to her like this. Did he even realize how important his presence was to her at a time like this? At any time, for that mater?

Or was he simply doing all of this because he wanted to?

That last thought nearly brought tears to her eyes; it made her so very happy.

"Are you all right?" Her husband's voice drew her mind away from its wanderings and brought her eyes to his. He was staring at her with concern in his eyes as he drew the blankets around his naked body. He propped himself up on one side as he turned to her, holding out an arm and wondering, "Would you like to…?"

Alexandra felt her heart stop in her chest and then pick up, doubletime, to make up for the lost beats. She thought it was going to fly out of her chest; she thought she was going to go deaf from the roaring in her ears. He was inviting her to sleep with him, to sleep in his arms.

Slowly, as if thinking his invitation might be a trick, she pushed herself across the bed. Her eyes roamed nervously over his face, his arms, his chest. Did he really want her here? Did he really want to lie with her like this? She wanted to ask him out loud, to know the truth, but her tongue felt as if it had swelled two sized too big for her mouth and she couldn't utter a word.

Marcus stared at her, wondering why she was hesitating so. His forehead creased. Maybe he'd misinterpreted what this night was about. Maybe it meant less to her than it had to him… But then why had she acted the way she did? Fed up with not knowing, he propped himself up in bed, enough so his eyes were level with hers. "You don't have to lie with me if you don't want to, you know," he told her quietly. There was no sound in the entire room—nor in the entire house—except for his voice.

"I want to," Alexandra replied at once. Her voice came out sounding stronger and more self-assured than either of them had suspected. "I, just…" She looked down at her hands, clasping them together. "I hadn't expected… I didn't think you wanted… I…" The rest of her words faded into nothingness as she lowered her voice yet again. She didn't know how to explain her doubts and she didn't want him to have to hear her fumble over her words like a child.

Her face lifted when his hand once again straightened her chin. Her worried brown eyes blinked at him, nervously jumping all about his face. She still didn't feel comfortable when he singled her out like this. Despite all that had happened between them tonight, all the hours they'd spent alone together, Alexandra didn't know if she'd ever get used to his piercing stare. She always had the keen notion that he was reading her mind whenever he looked into her eyes, and there were so many thoughts she couldn't bear him to become privy to.

"I want you to look at me when you speak to me," he told her quietly. His firm voice made it impossible for her to mistake his statement as anything but the direct order that it was. "I want you to keep your voice above a whisper." He stared at her, not blinking. "And I want you to tell me the truth at all times."

Alexandra wanted to hang her head—and she almost did—but such an action was forbidden now. She wouldn't dare cross him when he asked the simplest things of her. With great difficulty, she managed to look into his eyes as she answered, "I will." Her reply came out in a meek whisper, and it was only after he'd continued to stare at her for a long moment that she realized she'd already broken a rule.

She cleared her throat, accidentally replying a little too loudly, "I will."

His lips twitched into a half smile before disappearing again. He reached out, wrapping one arm around her back to pull her to him. When they were close enough—their noses almost touching—he bent forward to place a brief kiss to her forehead. Alexandra shut her eyes at once, melting beneath his gentle touch. She still didn't understand how—or why—he was so incessantly tender with her. She could swear her heart beat faster any time he touched her, just because of how carefully he did so. No one had ever taken such care with her, no one except her mother when she had been a child.

"You'll sleep well, won't you?" He murmured softly, settling his head back on his own pillow.

Alexandra nodded, not able to speak just yet. She reached out tentatively, her hand trembling slightly, to touch his chest. Her breath caught when her skin met his; she could feel the heat of him even still. She wondered if he was this warm all the time. "I will," she replied quietly, taking care to keep her voice elevated enough so that he'd be able to hear it. "I will now," she continued, scooting closer to him. She so desperately wanted to be enveloped wholly in his warmth, to have his arms wrap around her and hold her to him like a mother would cradle her newborn, but she held back from asking for more. He'd already given her so much tonight. It wouldn't do to ask for anything else.

Nonetheless, another question had left the tip of her tongue before she could rein herself in. If he hadn't just asked her not to look away from him, she would've buried her head in the sheets and refused to show her face again. "Will you be here in the morning?"

Despite her pointed question, which so obviously questioned his past actions, he didn't reprimand her. He didn't even blink. He simply nodded, answering seriously, "I will." After a pause, he added, "I swear."

Alexandra stared into his eyes as he stared back. He wanted so badly to apologize. Marcus knew it was the perfect time—he could explain everything, every moment, every detail, why he had left every morning… But there were no words. There was nothing to say. He couldn't explain it to her, not without hurting her all over again. He didn't ever want to remind her that there was ever a time when he—_allegedly_—didn't want her. He wanted her to forget. He hoped she would forget.

Gods, he just wished they could start over.

He heaved a heavy sigh and closed his eyes. As he puzzled things out for himself over the next few minutes, he felt her hand slip from his chest. Without even thinking, he covered it with his own. In such a short period of time, he had grown to love the feel of their hands touching. Even when they were like this—just the two of them lying side-by-side—he wanted to hold her hand.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, wanting to look into hers once again. But when his eyes opened, hers were closed. She had fallen asleep while he'd been thinking over their situation. His eyes roamed over her face, checking for the smallest flicker of awareness—but nothing was there. She didn't shift or yawn. Her breathing was slow and measured. Slowly, he lifted her hand and deposited it back by her side. He didn't want to end up rolling over it and trapping her hand beneath him as he slept. His fingers lingered on the back of her hand as he pulled away. He wished she'd stayed awake a little while longer. There was still so much he wanted to tell her, so much he wanted to do with her.

He wondered if she would wake up if he leaned forward to kiss her goodnight.

He frowned. Of course he would. He shouldn't bother jeopardizing her sleep like that, and it was already so late. He'd seen how exhausted she was; she needed all the sleep she could get, and he didn't want to be the person who denied it for her.

Therefore, for a long while, he simply stared at her. He laid his head on his pillow and looked at her. His eyes roamed over her pale, long face and got lost in the curve of her lips and the darkness of her hair. He did not feel his cock stir when he looked at her now. Well, not _only _his cock. His heart, too. That strange, empty, dark, and cold place in his chest… He felt it warm, felt it almost… come alive when he looked at her, for what had to be the first time in years. He wondered how long it had been since that last happened, since he had last felt alive, truly alive—when he wasn't hot and hard between a whore's legs, that is. He wondered, as he stared at her and felt his heart drum loudly inside his chest, if this was what Derek felt when he looked at Meredith. He wondered if what Lady Carolyn had said just two days ago hadn't been too far off the mark, after all.

He wondered if he was falling in love with his wife.

The idea frightened him more than he cared to admit.

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_Love, it will not betray you, e__nslave or dismay you,_

_It will set you free._

_Be more like the man you were made to be._

_Sigh No More ~_ Mumford & Sons

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_Author's Note__: So the scene in the library ended up nothing like the first two drafts I wrote of it. I hope it worked out in the end, though. I'm still unsure if I like it more or less. Thank you all for reading. Reviews would be greatly appreciated, my friends. :) I'm so happy to be back! :D_


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21:**

FFN Author's Note:

slexiefeels: Thank you so much for your review! I'm so glad you're liking this story, especially after such a long break. (I'm grateful you're still sticking with Touch Me as well!) Aw, and thank you so much. That means so much that you think so highly of my writing; again, thank you. Meredith and Derek will definitely be involved in this story-and a few others I'm concocting! :) Thank you for your review!

Olimpia: I am so happy you liked the last chapter! I was hoping it would be well-received. Some of the parts you pointed out were my favorite to write, especially the moment where he wonders if he's falling in love with Alexandra. :) PS: I was happy to mention you in the last author's note, as well as in this one. I love seeing your reviews. :) I hope you had a fantastic holiday. Thank you so much for reading!

Summary: All of this was happening too fast. He didn't want a wife. He'd never wanted a wife. But he wanted her.

Disclaimer: I own Marcus and Alexandra.

Rating: M

Author's Note: I am so happy to be returning to _Out of My Hands _again!I always forget how much I love writing this story when I work on something else, and I have sorely missed the world of Marcus and Alexandra. This chapter was especially fun to write. Please enjoy! :)

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Alexandra did not want to wake up.

She was having the most wonderful dream, and she was in no rush to leave it behind. In it, she had done something extraordinary, something almost unbelievable—she had reconciled with her husband. Not only that, she had told him of her fantasies, her lurid thoughts and desires and he had not condemned her for such nor told her to repent for what she was sure had been sins. He had been willing to hear what she wanted and even went so far as to make it a reality. It had been like heaven.

Alexandra never wanted to leave that dream world, that paradise where she got everything she'd wanted these past few months. No, she didn't want to leave. She didn't want to wake up, alone. She didn't want to eat breakfast, alone. She didn't want to do anything alone anymore, not when she'd spent such time with him.

But nonetheless, she could feel herself slipping away from the dream. She was slowly coming back to herself: she could feel the cool sheets covering her body, the plush pillow against her face, and the comfortable mattress beneath her body. Even with all those feelings, she strained to hold onto the dream, to remember his gentle touches and consuming kisses. She wanted to hold onto him for as long as she could.

Finally, though, it was time for her to wake up. She did so with silent resignation, blinking into the bright sunlight that was streaming in through the windows. It took her a few moments for her eyes to adjust before she slowly propped herself up in bed, yawning as she did so. Her body felt curiously stiff and overtired, though she couldn't imagine why. She was just about to look around the room for Grace and Dorthea when her eyes wandered just a mere foot to her left and promptly froze in place.

There he was.

Her whole body trembled at the sight of him, her mind suddenly flooded with memories. She realized, beneath the onslaught of remembrances, that what she'd thought was a dream just before waking had, in fact, been a series of memories, played over and over within her sleeping mind. Even in sleep, her mind was forever unwilling to forget him.

"It wasn't a dream," she said at once, her wide brown eyes filling with joy as they stared into his warm blue ones. He smiled slowly at her, and she felt happiness burst in her chest. Just that one smile told her that he didn't regret that last night and that was all she'd ever hoped for: no regrets.

"Last night? No," he shook his head, still smiling. "It wasn't a dream."

Her eyes took a moment to roam over his now-familiar frame, and she couldn't be more grateful that she was able to remember the way his arms felt wrapped around her, and the way his beard scratched her skin wherever he kissed her. Since the morning after their marriage early in the fall, Alexandra thought she'd only ever have the memories of their wedding night to subsist on. It had been a wonderful night, yes, but it had always marked the start of his disappearance from her life. She couldn't be happier that she had new memories to accompany her thoughts; new memories, she now knew, that would be eclipsed by others as time went by. For one of the few times ever, Alexandra couldn't wait to go to bed with her husband again.

She looked over at him now, her eyes tracing over every feature of his face, and still she could hardly process it. He was here, in bed, waiting for her when she awoke. She had never been to heaven, only heard tales from older women in the village and priests at mass… She wondered if this would be her heaven when she died: waking up each morning to find her husband there, waiting for her with a smile on his face. If so, such a paradise could not come quick enough.

For now, she happily settled herself inside her comfortable reality.

"You're here," she stated the obvious in a half-whisper, like such an observation was a cherished secret. And, for Alexandra, it was. He had never before stayed beside her in bed long enough for her to wake up and have him be the first thing she saw. It felt like a miracle.

"I am," her husband replied, a smile playing on the edges of his mouth. He clearly didn't see this morning as momentous as she did, but Alexandra didn't mind. Just because it mattered to her did not mean it had to matter to him as well. It was enough that he was here, enough that he was happy to be here.

Her voice was scratchy when she managed to tell him, "You can't possibly imagine what that means to me." She hadn't meant to say the words—lest he draw the conclusion for himself and take his previous behavior as unwanted by her—but as the seconds passed, she couldn't hold them in anymore. She had to let him know, just once, what this morning meant to her, what his presence here meant to her. She cleared her throat, blinking hard to dispel the tears that had begun gathering in her eyelids. "Thank you," she finished in a whisper.

He smiled faintly, but tilted his head in confusion. He didn't know what she was talking about.

Alexandra shook her head before she could ask. "It's nothing," she assured him. She didn't like to lie to him, but she knew she wasn't ready to explain. _Maybe later, _she told herself, knowing full well that later would probably never come. It didn't much matter. Some secrets were meant for one's self only.

Starting at him, seeing the happiness still in his eyes from when they'd spoken of the previous night only briefly, Alexandra suddenly wanted to kiss him. Badly. All of the memories she'd thought were figments of her imagination were rapidly lining up in her mind, creating a full and real picture of the last twenty-four hours. She remembered their dance, her own desertion, their twin confessions and resulting kiss… She remembered how he'd pleasured her even before they'd made it back to castle, and how many times he'd then multiplied that pleasure within its walls. She remembered her body shaking and books falling from the shelves, and suddenly she wasn't sure if she could hold back from kissing him any longer.

Thankfully, before she was forced to figure out how to make a move herself, he leaned forward and covered her lips with his. Alexandra sighed automatically into the kiss, relieved, but with his mouth on top of hers it sounded much like a moan. Marcus took the noise as encouragement, and though her eyes were closed in early-morning bliss, she could still feel him maneuvering above her. Her hands, which had been still at her sides, rose at once to hang onto his shoulders. They were bare, rounded, and—like most of his body—hardened beneath the skin with muscle but softened at the surface by a lavish, sedentary, and comfortable life.

One of her hands slipped past his neck, and she splayed her fingers through the hairs of his rough beard as she cupped his cheek. The short hairs on his face scratched the skin of her chin, lips, and the space between her nose and mouth as they kissed, but Alexandra didn't mind. In truth, she had grown—in a very short period of time—to quite enjoy the scratchiness of his beard against her skin. She knew she should probably worry about her complexion, about her perfect porcelain skin being marred by such deep, probing kisses and the chafing that resulted, but Alexandra couldn't find it in herself to care at the moment. She never cared about anything but his lips when they were on hers.

Her hand that had hung onto his shoulder moved to the middle of his back, pressing there and silently directing him to come closer. He obliged, and when he brought his body flush against hers, she could feel the hardness of his member and she knew right then that she needed it, needed him. Before it had been simple want—she always wanted him—but now that she could feel the outline of his manhood against her thigh and feel the scrape of his kiss against her chin, she knew she needed him inside her. She would not settle for anything else, and—she hoped, guessed—that he wouldn't either.

His lips left hers slowly, making a trail of kisses down her face, her neck. Alexandra's breathing was loud and fast—labored from their long and involved kisses—and her lungs were desperate for the air that they'd been denied, but when his mouth began nearing her breasts, her breath stopped entirely for a moment.

She hadn't even realized she'd awoken naked. She searched her memory, but all she could remember wearing last night after he'd undressed her was that sheet she'd kept wrapped around her body. Her eyes flew around the room now, searching for it, before remembering that it was most likely the thing that was tangling her ankles together.

And then it suddenly hit her: She and her husband had slept beside one another completely naked last night.

Her cheeks were hot and colored with a deep pink hue when she looked down at him.

His chin was resting between the small twin swells of her breasts, but his eyes were on hers. "Have I embarrassed you again?" He wondered aloud, his hand seemingly absentmindedly reaching for and curling with her own.

Alexandra felt her heartbeat pick up; she hoped he couldn't feel it, too. They were naked, yes, but in actuality, he was doing no more than holding her hand. She had no reason to get so excited over something so small. Sometimes she got the feeling he was mocking her in his mind, and she didn't want to feed more fodder to the fire. She knew her heart was easily won over; she didn't need him to laugh or comment about it.

"I seem to be doing that a lot recently," he continued, seemingly oblivious to her change in heart rate. "Embarrassing you, that is." And then that smirk was back on his face and Alexandra knew the only way she could attempt to save face was to explain. Unfortunately, even the explanation was embarrassing. She wondered again if she would ever be completely comfortable around him.

"I awoke without a nightgown on," she explained quietly, hating the fact that her cheeks flamed as she spoke. She wished she wasn't so easily chagrined; she wished she could be more like Meredith with her bold looks and big laugh and confidence in everything from conversing with a man to sharing a bed with one.

"And do you think I pulled one off you in the middle of the night?" Her husband's mocking grin now accompanied his voice, and Alexandra had to close her eyes to compose herself.

"No," she replied after she'd taken a moment to breathe. Her eyes found his once they were opened, though from the slight up-turn of her lips, Marcus could tell she was still nearly just as shy as she'd been the night of their wedding. "I remember last night."

"All of it?" He wondered, letting go of her hands and cupping her thin, slanting body within his palms.

Alexandra gasped softly as his hands slid down her sides to cup the small mounds that were—unfortunately—her completely developed breasts. Though she tried to keep her eyes open, they flickered closed as his mere touch brought her such incomprehensible pleasure. She would never understand how the slightest touch of her husband's hand on her breasts made her as aroused as it did. It wasn't as if he were touching that incredibly sensitive spot between her thighs, but at times, it almost felt like he was when his hands were on her breasts. "Ma-ark," she whispered, moaned really, as his thumbs dragged across her sensitive nipples. They hardened at once into small, pert nubs. "Oh, please…"

"There she is." Alexandra fumbled her eyes open, and when she looked down at him now, it was not ridicule she saw in his smile but… almost… affection. Paired with amusement, of course. "I was wondering where my wanton little wife from last night had gotten to. I was worried she'd disappeared forever."

As he knew she would, Alexandra turned red as a beet at that comment. She opened her mouth to reply, but left it hanging in an outraged 'O,' not having anything to say to such a comment. Marcus gave her a small smile, informing her, "I meant it as a compliment, Alexandra," before pressing a kiss between her breasts.

Alexandra wanted to reply—to reprimand him for saying such a thing; she was his wife, after all, she deserved _some _respect—but she couldn't find the right words. She could barely find any words, in fact, and those few words that she grabbed ahold of in her mind soon flittered away once he returned his attentions back to her body in earnest.

His thumbs and forefingers returned to her breasts with haste. Alexandra had never thought having someone touch her breasts in that way—plucking her nipples with gentle strength—would be so pleasing, but it was. She wondered how he had learned so quickly that she enjoyed how he played with her breasts so. Soft moans escaped her mouth instead of breaths now, and though they were low and quiet, Alexandra could tell by his firmer, but still light, hold on her nipples, that he wanted to increase her pleasure. He wanted to hear her moan at full volume, like she had last night in bed.

Alexandra shut her eyes, her back arching up from the goose-feather mattress as he went back to palming her breasts instead of attending to her aching nipples. She couldn't believe that it had only been last night that he'd pleasured her so. She smiled reflexively, remembering. How had she done that, told him of her fantasies and asked him to act one out with her? Had she been insane? No. Drunk? Not enough. Was she simply _that _emboldened by privacy and darkness? Possibly. Whatever the answer, Alexandra was thankful that time was behind them.

She didn't know if she could be so bold again.

Her mind suddenly raced ahead, thinking of tonight. He wouldn't expect her to be so… so _wanton _again tonight, would he? Did he understand that last night had been a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence? Alexandra guessed he probably didn't. He didn't know her any better than she knew him, and the only time they'd spent together that he could draw her character from was last night. She figured he was the sort of man who always managed to get what he wanted out of women, but Alexandra didn't think she could be that sort of woman. He could manipulate her with touches and kisses to do nearly anything, but last night had been something so different altogether. She didn't think she could act like that again. She hoped he wasn't expecting it.

"You think too much," her husband whispered against her neck, his hot breath heating her already flushed skin and bringing her back to the present. "It makes me wonder if you aren't as interested in this as I am."

Alexandra's eyes went wide as she twisted her neck back so she could look at him. "No!" She protested at once, not wanting at all to have given that impression. "My lord, please, I am, I promise. M—My mind, it just, it wandered—"

He silenced her with a single finger against her swollen red lips. "Alexandra," he began slowly, "I was teasing." He paused, and Alexandra swallowed worriedly as she saw a frown disrupt the previous cheer on his face. "And I believe we had a conversation about titles," he added, fixing her with that penetrating stare.

Alexandra's tongue snaked out to wet her lips nervously as she bowed her head. "Of course," she whispered quietly. "We did."

When she managed to look back up, he was still fixing her with that serious stare. She remember too late what else they'd had a conversation about—the level of her voice and the aversion of her eyes. She hadn't done either of the things he'd asked of her.

"I apologize," she told him, her voice soft but not too soft, as she forced herself to look him right in the eyes. Though it was tough to do, she resisted the urge to look back down as she added, "I hadn't meant to; I'm sorry."

Marcus cupped her cheek, pressing a light kiss to her lips. He pulled away before she could kiss back. "I don't want you to apologize," he told her.

Alexandra had to bite down on her tongue hard so she wouldn't say "I'm sorry" again. "All right," she replied meekly instead, obedient as ever. Ofttimes, she couldn't help it. It was in her nature to apologize for the wrongs around her, even if they weren't her own. She silently swore that she would change, however, for she knew he didn't like or appreciate it, and if she wanted to be anything in life, it was a good wife to her husband.

Slowly, she trailed the fingers of her left hand up his side, leaving her hand resting on his muscular shoulder. He turned his head when he felt the warmth of her small palm against his broad shoulder. At once, he spotted her gold wedding band on her hand, and, surprising even himself, he smiled. Alexandra watched him, feeling her chest tighten with happiness so acute that it strangely felt like pain. She stayed silent as he bent over to kiss the ring on her finger, but tilted her hand so it would be easier for him to reach. With the sun streaming into the room from the window, the ring glowed in the morning light.

Slowly, he turned his head back to hers. He spent a long moment staring into her eyes before noting, with that suggestive grin he wore so often, "I think we've talked long enough."

Though she didn't say, Alexandra couldn't agree more. Her womanly center had been yearning for him since before she'd even awoken, and though she'd wanted many times to beg him to have her, she knew she couldn't. Even in a bed as, well, _changeable _as theirs, she was aware there were modes of propriety she had to employ.

Again, she thought of Meredith, wondering after her relationship with Derek. Did those two ever maintain any respectable airs between one another? Or did they simply go about their days naked, announcing the moment it struck them that they wanted one another, and following through with it wherever they happened to be? It certainly seemed like that was what they did. Alexandra wouldn't put it past her bold older sister, and—she surprised herself by laughing softly at the thought of him—she wouldn't exactly put it past Derek, either. She remembered when she'd nearly walked in on their private moment at their own wedding party with another laugh. She'd had a feeling for a long while now that the two drove each other on, with one always wanting to get the better of the other. Alexandra had no doubts now that such behavior existed within the confines of their bedroom as well… or within whatever room they chose to make their bedroom.

"What are you giggling about there?" Her husband wondered, the words floating up from between his lips, which were currently attached to her neck.

"Derek," Lexie replied at once, unable to lie and knowing he wouldn't tolerate it otherwise.

Marcus lifted his head from the crook of her shoulder at once, staring down at her with his eyebrows furrowed. Alexandra realized with private pride that she would've cowered from such a look just a few months ago. Now it almost made her smile. "Derek?" Her husband repeated, understandably not grasping what she was alluding to. "Why are you thinking about him when we're—" He broke off suddenly, his mouth hanging slightly open, and Alexandra couldn't help but be shocked. She couldn't remember a time when he was speechless, nevertheless when concerning a topic inside the bedroom.

"I was just thinking about him and my sister Meredith," Alexandra replied, deciding to take the high road and not tease him. She silently hoped he would take her example to heart, though she greatly doubted that he had even noticed. "And if… Well, honestly, I wondered if their… bedroom habits… were like ours."

Marcus grinned at once, understanding immediately. Though he hadn't thought about it before, he wasn't at all surprised that Alexandra had an idea of how often those two stripped each other naked for pleasure. For being such a model son, it surprised and entertained Marcus to no end how free he'd become with himself since meeting—and now wedding—Meredith. He was certainly a lot more fun, Marcus smirked to himself, now that he was getting regular sex.

"I don't know if they take each other in the Shepherd's library," Marcus smirked after a moment, causing a light blush to color Alexandra's cheeks, "but I'm sure you've noticed how… active," his eyebrows moved suggestively, "those two can be."

Even though Alexandra tried to be as confident as her elder sister as she propositioned her husband, a blush spread over her cheeks, ruining the effect of her would-be-bold words. "Do you think we're just as active?"

Her fumbling temptation didn't even faze him. _If anything, _Alexandra thought with surprise as he moved forward, _it only aroused him more._ She could practically see the lust glaze over his eyes before his hands were grappling with her body and his lips were all but swallowing hers.

One of his hands got tangled in her messy dark hair as he tried to cup her neck and bring her mouth closer to his, but neither cared. Even when he ended up tugging roughly on the strands wrapped around his fingers in frustration for getting his hand caught, all Alexandra could feel was pleasure… most likely due to the location of his other hand.

While his first was busy getting accidentally tangled in his hair, the second had made a beeline for the apex of her thighs—and what lay hidden there. Marcus couldn't help but grunt aloud into their kiss when he first touched her. They had spent a long while wasting their morning arousal with words; he hadn't expected her to be as wet as she was after all that. But she was; gods, was she _wet_. It made him wonder, idly, if she'd been this wet when she woke up. He couldn't help but smirk slightly as he kissed her. Ever since she'd told him how she'd fantasized after him, he hadn't been able to forget about it. He wondered if she'd had any more naughty thoughts last night, and if she did, whether she'd ask him to re-enact any of them. He was more than willing to do so.

Alexandra pulled her mouth from his when she felt his fingers push their way inside her tight opening, his name escaping her breathless lips in a desperate gasp. "Marcus!"

His lips twitched upwards, and he kissed her lips briefly before lower his head to her neck and sucking the pale skin there.

"Mm," she whimpered, her body already rocking against his hand. Her hands clutched his shoulders in a death grip. "More," she whispered, surprising even herself. After the many rounds they'd had last night, she thought her womanly place would be sore in the morning. But all she felt down there was starvation. All she wanted was more of him. _Hair of the dog that bit, I suppose, _she found herself thinking with a smile. If it was true—if the way to cure her aches and pains was last night was to have more of him inside her, she would gratefully take it.

"Please, Marcus," she moaned as his fingers pushed in and out of her, "I want…" She trailed off, not being able to say it.

"I know," he whispered in her ear, delighting in the way she shivered when his lips brushed against her lobe. "I know what you want." He grazed his teeth over the edge of her earlobe, loving the sharp gasp she gave off at the action.

He withdrew his fingers from her then, carefully spreading her slick folds so he could push himself inside her without trouble. She was whimpering practically incoherently now, and Marcus couldn't help but take more than a little pride in that fact. He'd quickly come to love being able to render his usually babbling wife incapable of speech.

Once again, he pressed his face into the junction of her neck and shoulder, waiting for confirmation. "Are you ready, dear?"

He could feel her nod vigorously. "Yes. _Yes._" Her hands moved from his shoulder to his head. They ran through his hair as if crazed—and, he supposed, she was a bit crazed when it their activities in the bedroom. They both were. Last night had proven that, when their wedding night had only hinted at such passion. Forcing in a deep breath, Marcus took care to slowly push himself inside her. Even though she was perfectly willing this morning, and had been last night, a voice in his head still warned him to be cautious. He never knew when he might cause her pain again.

And after last night, he knew it was more than likely that her body would have come away sore and delicate from their many sexual encounters. He didn't want to hurt her now and drive her away from him, scared. No, he would take his time with her, and make her feel good. He would not cause her any more pain.

When he finally pushed his length inside her, the sound that came out of her mouth, thankfully, was so far from pained. She cried out in pleasure, being overwhelmed at feeling him so fully there, in that place that had never been occupied by anyone or anything before she married him. Alexandra knew it was unseemly—_wanton, _like he'd said—but she couldn't help the way her back arched off the bed and the nickname she was still embarrassed for creating for him tore from between her lips. "MARK!"

Marcus merely grinned in response, grunting as he pushed himself fully inside her. After their activities last night, he certainly hadn't expected her to want him in the morning, let alone so enthusiastically. _However, _he grinned, pausing a moment inside of her to let her small, tight body adjust, _it seems as if we have similar wants most of the time_.

Her hands fisted in his hair, gripped his forearms, his shoulders, anywhere she could find purchase. "Please," she moaned, no longer caring how loud she was or how obscene she sounded. She needed him so much right now that nothing else in the world mattered. "More…"

He obliged her at once, sinking his hard member into her body as easily as a hot knife would pierce butter. She gasped aloud with each penetration, as if each was the first all over again, and soon enough her gasps gave way to one long, loud, and unbroken moan. Marcus kissed her—her cheeks, her neck, her mouth—but her lips barely responded to his. If her nails weren't practically drawing blood from beneath his skin with her tight grip and her inner walls weren't clutching his manhood so tight he was a second away from bursting, he might've thought she wasn't keen to participate. But all he had to do was open his ears and hear her cry out for him and he knew that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

.

.

The little blonde girl jumped in place, her eyes flying to the older woman beside her. "Did you hear that?"

The brown-haired woman shook her head impatiently, being drawn out of her deep thoughts by the silly question, which she ignored. The girl was always hearing things that weren't there, or watching after butterflies as they flew over the grounds, or standing in shafts of sunlight so her hair would shine. All frivolous things that had no place while she was at work, things that always interrupted Dorthea's mental tally of the day's work ahead. "Will you get breakfast finished, already?" Dorthea glanced over her shoulder, her teeth nervously chewing on her lower lip, a bad habit she'd picked up from her mother as a child and never been quite able to shirk. "We're late. She's probably starving, stuck up there waiting for us."

It was late in the morning—only two hours away from noontime—and still her mistress had never come down for breakfast. Though Dorthea hadn't seen him, she suspected Lord Sloan had departed from the castle early; maybe before the sun rose as had become his custom recently. She sighed to herself, wondering privately how long the man was planning on ignoring his young wife. Sooner or later, he'd have to move on from whatever misgivings he had and take her to bed again. She wasn't pregnant now—Dorthea still remembered how subdued her mistress had looked the last time she wondered after rags for her bleeding—and she certainly wouldn't become pregnant, not without his help.

Grace finally finished assembling the platter, lifting it up and balancing it perfectly in her two hands like she'd been taught. "I'm ready," she announced proudly, a bright smiling lighting up her childlike face.

Dorthea spared a small returning smile for the girl. No matter how cross she got, that little girl's happy smile could always make her burdens less, if only for a moment. She bit down on her lip again, telling herself for the hundredth time not to get attached to the child. "Come on," she instructed, leading the girl out of the dining room and to the stairs even though she knew the way well enough by now. Grace had been insisting for days now that she could make the trip with the breakfast tray alone, but Dorthea had denied indulging such a practice. What if the one day the older handmaiden let the younger go alone, their mistresses needed her?

_And besides, _Dorthea comforted herself with fact, _Grace is much too little to help Lady Alexandra with her dressing. _But soon enough, Dorthea knew, the girl would grow taller and stronger and become a woman herself. Dorthea wondered, privately, what would become of the two when that time came. Who would stay and who would go? The older maid liked to think she had a special connection (albeit weak) with her mistress, but she had learned in her time that there really was no way to tell which way a noblewoman's affections would lean. Dorthea liked to believe her mistress would be kind enough to keep them both on, regardless of whether or not two handmaidens were necessary, but Dorthea knew those sorts of decisions were not left up to her. In the end, all she could really do was voice her opinion, if she could manage that much.

Dorthea frowned as she ascended the stairs a few steps behind her young protégé. She wondered what Lord Sloan would do with them when it was prudent to keep one over two. How would he know which to sack? He was barely ever in the castle for a few hours at a time these days. She was half-certain he had no idea what their job entailed, and even more certain that he didn't know their names. Could he fire her if he didn't know her name?

Dorthea shook her head, shoving the errant thoughts of her head. Her master could do whatever he wished, and if she was fired in favor of young Grace, than she was fired. She comforted herself with the fact that she still had a few more years to spend here before such a decision would be forced upon the two handmaidens.

She nearly tripped over the girl when she stopped halfway down the hallway. "Grace!" Dorthea hissed, struggling to right herself. "What are you—"

"You had to have heard that!"

"Hush," Dorthea snapped at once, for the girl's voice had been so much louder than it should've been. "Be quiet," she ordered, quickly crossing to the end of the hall and putting her hand on the doorknob of her mistress's bedroom. She had had enough of the girl's antics—she'd been commenting about errant noises for the last half-hour—and Dorthea simply wanted to feed and clothe her mistress and get the day on its way.

She turned the knob on the door, ushered the girl inside without a second glance, and then promptly stopped dead in her tracks at what she saw before her. Vaguely, as if from a far distance away, she heard the wooden tray clatter to the ground, accompanied by the sound of shattering china and porcelain.

.

.

Alexandra's gasp was terribly audible in the silent room, heard by all just a half-second after the tray slipped from Grace's hands and smashed on the wood flooring. Around the bulk of her husband's body, she could see her two handmaidens standing, visibly slack-jawed, in the doorway.

They were staring at her husband's bare backside, buttocks, and legs. And they were staring at her.

She was completely naked beneath him, her legs spread wide to accept him gratefully and her knees bent to support herself. Thankfully, her husband covered most of her nudity from view. Unfortunately, it left him completely bare for her servants to oogle at.

Alexandra swallowed. She had no idea what to say. She knew she had to tell them to leave—they should have left already, but she understood why they couldn't move—and yet, she couldn't find the words. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Surprisingly, her husband quickly came to her rescue, reaching back to grasp the sheet at the end of the bed with one hand and quickly wrapping it around them. He directed his words at Grace when he spoke, telling her quietly, "I think it would be prudent for you to take your leave now, little one."

Looking completely stunned and quite a bit scared, the girl nodded mutely. She scurried out of the room without ever uttering a single word, her eyes trained away from her master and mistress the entire time. Alexandra felt guilt rising in her. She tried to remember how old Grace was. She always seemed so much younger than what Alexandra would guess were her probable thirteen years. She hoped she hadn't shattered the little girl's innocence. She deserved to have her childhood for a year or two more before marrying.

"Sh—She said she heard noises earlier, my lord, my lady, I didn't think anything of it…" Dorthea was talking rapidly, breathing rapidly—Alexandra never seen her usually calm and matronly demeanor so completely flustered. "I am so very sorry, I never expected to see—" The maidservant broke off at once, her eyes going wide, seemingly having realized what she'd just been about to say, and what, in turn, she'd ended up implying. She looked as if she wanted to say something else but couldn't find the words or will to do so. "I am so sorry," she whispered again. "Forgive us the intrusion, the both of us, I beg of you," she added, her eyes on the floor as she fled the way she'd come, pulling the door shut tight behind her.

.

The first thing Marcus did once the servants were gone was laugh.

It was long and loud and done with so much amusement that even afterwards, his shoulders still shook. Alexandra couldn't help but smile a bit herself, though that was only because his laughter was so endearing. She'd only heard him laugh once before—maybe twice—and even though Grace and Dorthea's arrival had been one of the more humiliating moments in her life so far, the fact that it made her husband laugh was enough for her to feel a bit better about it—if only for the moment.

"I will never be able to face them after this," Alexandra spoke, mortified, after his laughter had died away. Her cheeks were an almost—_almost_—unattractive shade of deep red mixed with patches of bright pink. Marcus, in truth, had never seen her look so embarrassed, and he had seen her embarrassed many times. He didn't blame her. He was used to the errant walk-in while he was in the throes with this woman or that, but of course his virtuous, previously virgin wife had never had the opportunity.

"I can hire you new handmaidens," Marcus told her at once. "It would be no trouble. I can find you more discreet ones, and you won't have to see those two again."

"No!" Alexandra protested immediately. "No, don't fire them, please." She was both flattered and worried that he'd offered so quickly to remedy the situation. She didn't want to lose the two people she'd come to lean on most over the past few months just because they'd made a simple mistake. She pressed her lips together to hide a smile, though—knowing he would fire them in an instant if she asked made her feel important. Cared for. Looked after.

She wondered for a moment if that was what she was always supposed to feel in this marriage. She was grateful that now, at least, she had a taste instead of a dream to follow.

"It may happen again," he warned her.

Alexandra couldn't help but smile, looking over at him. She had thoroughly enjoyed their morning together—even now, after her handmaidens had disrupted them. She didn't know if it was foolish to hope for a reoccurrence. Quietly, she told him, "I do hope it might." He smiled back at her, and for a moment, twisted up in covers and still a bit twisted up in each other, they laid back and simply smiled at each other.

After a few seconds of indulging in that foreign practice, Alexandra implored him softly, "They're so kind to me, Marcus, my handmaidens. Please keep them on. I know they won't speak of it. They would never embarrass either of us like that."

He shrugged, leaving it up to her. "They are your maids, after all."

"Thank you," she replied, grateful. She didn't know what she'd do without Dorthea or Grace, or how she'd get along with new handmaidens. Things were simpler like this, more familiar—and that was worth the humiliation.

There was a knock on the door a few minutes later. Though neither were dressed in the least, and therefore not presentable even in emergencies, Marcus called for the visitor to enter. No one came forward. He called again, but again, there was no answer. He groaned softly, getting out of bed, as he muttered under his breath.

"First they barge in, now they can't be called in." He pulled a few thin articles of underclothes to cover himself for the meeting. He looked over to his wife as he neared the door, stepping around the shattered glass, spilled milk, and bits of mangled food strew on the floor. "What are we going to do with these maids of yours if we can't fire them?"

He opened the door, expecting to see the little girl—Gretel, was it?—or the elder one whose name he couldn't remember. But when he opened the door, there was no one standing there. Just two breakfast trays sitting on the floor and a little note.

He picked it up, his eyes running over the text there. Afterwards, he glanced down at the two trays. He quickly recognized the contents of one—it was what he usually ate for breakfast—but the second looked rather foreign. He picked it up, carrying it to his wife. His set it on top of her legs, ignoring her soft protestations that he didn't have to, that she could've gotten it herself and carried him his, too. He then passed her the note and then went to get his own.

Alexandra's eyes flew over the note, surprised at even its existence. She hadn't known either of her maidservants could write. She might've expected it from Dorthea, so much older and well-trained, but even such a good worker could be as illiterate as the next common laborer.

_My lord and lady,_

_I am so very sorry for the intrusion. I cannot begin to describe the height of my embarrassment—for both walking into your private quarters unannounced and not leaving immediately thereafter. I hope you can both find it in your kind hearts to forgive Grace and myself. Especially the girl—she hadn't meant to drop the tray. It will be cleaned up as soon as you call for us. If need be, please extract the cost from my pay and not hers._

_Lady Alexandra, when you need assistance, please ring the bell. We will be belowstairs and will likely not hear if you call._

_Again, I am so very sorry. I pray you will be able to forgive the both of us in time._

_Your humble servants,_

_Dorthea_

_Grace_

Alexandra looked to him the moment she finished the letter, worried. "You—You won't make them pay, will you? For the shattered dishes? Because—" She was going to continue, but her husband was already shaking his head.

He grinned indecently at her as he replied, "It was not the girl's fault."

Alexandra bent her head so he wouldn't see her replying grin. After a moment, she nodded, happy that he wasn't going to punish them. "Thank you," she spoke up. "I didn't think it was her fault either."

She paused a moment, inspecting the letter again as her husband started on his breakfast.

"I didn't know she could write," Alexandra noted, her eyes looking over the note a second time. "And even little Grace…" She had inspected the girl's name in writing, and being able to distinguish it from the main script, she realized the girl must've signed it herself. "They can both write?" She wondered, shocked. She recalled her home, and knew that the members of her family were among a small fraction of the village's population that were well-versed enough in their letters to be able to write so fluently.

"Everyone who works here can read and write," Marcus replied, and Alexandra stared at him in disbelief. There must be a hundred—if not more—servants who worked in this enormous place. Was he telling her that every single one—from the handmaidens to the lowest scullery maid or stable boy knew how to read and write? She'd never heard of so many literate people in such low stations.

"Why?" She couldn't help but blurt. She hoped it didn't sound callous when she asked, "What's the point?"

"The point is communication," her husband replied. "If I send a letter home from abroad, I want to know there will always be someone here who can decipher and carry it out, even if only the caretakers are left. I want to be able to know that they all possess at least a modicum of skills; if they were all as stupid as the village farmhands, what use would I have for any of them?"

Alexandra thought this over, decided that it was rather convenient. Written orders would be at once understood by everyone who came across them. It let everyone do their job faster and with less room for error if they understood language at one glance and didn't have to spend an eternity puzzling out the strange symbols.

Quietly, Alexandra asked, unable to quell her interest, "Do you go abroad a lot?" She'd never been anywhere but here—and her natal village—but she'd heard enough tales from her father to know that the world was much bigger than either of the two places. She so longed to visit the outer world, but sufficed herself from hearing about it from others and from dusty old books. She looked at her husband now, imaging him in all number of exotic locales, walking through strange streets and talking with strange people in strange tongues. Doing all sorts of things she knew she'd never be able to do.

"I used to," Marcus replied—off-handed, she noticed, for he seemed to be more interested in spreading jam on the bread on his plate than discussing his travels. Alexandra bit her tongue. If he didn't want to converse about it, she would not be impertinent and push him on the matter. Even still, she couldn't help but wonder after the many places he must've been to. What did he do there? Who did he meet? And how did he ever make the decision to leave and come back home?

Alexandra turned her attention back to the letter, realizing that there were a few other other items that were bothering her. "What is this bell she's talking about?" Alexandra wondered. She glanced to her bedside table, but, as always, there was nothing there but her solitary candle. She smiled faintly at the sight of it, realizing she hadn't lit it last night before she fell asleep. She'd been too preoccupied, she thought with warmth rising in her chest.

"It's there," Marcus told her, pointing towards the wall behind her table with a finger.

Alexandra stared at the wall, confused. Was there supposed to be a bell built into the wall? She didn't see anything; no flash of gold or silver or bronze. "I'm sorry…" She turned back to him. "I'm sorry, but I don't see anything."

Marcus set down his knife and fork, leaning across her side of the bed to grasp onto a small string protruding from the wall. It had a small wooden peg at the bottom, a little longer than the length of Alexandra's hand. She grasped it lightly when he put it into her hand. The wood was cold and smooth in her hand, clearly well-worn. She tried not to think what other women had laid in this bed—in her place—and grasped the wood to pull the bell. She tried to only picture her husband's mother, but even that thought was far from comforting, though for an entirely different set of reasons.

"You pull that," he instructed, "and a bell will ring in the servants' quarters, directing one of them to come up and see what you need." He frowned. "Your maids didn't show you this your first day?"

Alexandra shook her head slowly, still staring at the string. She fingered the worn wooden handle for a moment before letting it go. Though it was an absurd whim, she suddenly wanted to use the bell as often as possible, if only to leave her mark on the wood as well. To prove that she'd been here, been with him. Her mind plummeted a moment, realizing it might be the only mark she'd have for a time if their coupling didn't soon lead to a child.

"Alexandra?"

She jumped in place, causing her saucers and dishes to clatter against once another. She let the string go at once, and quickly turned her attention to her husband. "Yes?"

He frowned slightly at her, and she reprimanded herself for not listening. "Didn't your maids show you this the first day you were here?"

Alexandra shook her head again, quicker this time so he would see. "No, they never showed me." She paused, looking at her plate. "I suppose they had no need to. They were able to come in whenever they needed to, since I was… the only one here."

Marcus stared at her, wondering what to say. He knew he should apologize, but he wasn't sure how to say it. _I'm sorry I left you alone for weeks on end, but I'm here now? _What kind of an apology was that? He knew she deserved something better than that, but he couldn't think of anything better, so he stayed silent on that front. "You should eat your food before it gets cold," he instructed quietly, not able to let the silence continue after her words.

Alexandra nodded. Dutifully, she took up a spoon and dipped it into her porridge. It was still warm when she brought it to her lips, and she smiled at the taste of sugar on the oats as she chewed and swallowed. Ever since she'd once asked for a sweetener of some sort, the cook had always made sure it put it on her porridge prior to sending her breakfast out. Alexandra smiled to herself, remembering her single encounter with Wenda the cook. Like her handmaidens in the early days of her marriage, that woman had been a savior to her when she had no one to speak to about all the worried that had plagued her at the time. She wondered how improper it would be if she were to visit the kitchens. She suddenly felt like talking with Wenda, telling her that things were better now and, even if she didn't know her place yet as a noble lady and a wife to her husband, at least she'd figured out part of her marital duties.

"What are you eating there?" Her husband wondered, disrupting her thoughts as he leaned over to eye her tray. "Porridge?" He nearly spat out the word.

Alexandra couldn't help but smile at his immediate disgust, glancing over to him. "What?" She returned. "Am I not allowed to like porridge?" She meant the question as a joke, but a small part of her was serious. While living at home, porridge was what she and her sisters had eaten nearly every single day. She had complained then, for it had been so bland as to be near inedible, but now that she was away—in a new home—she missed it. It was the smallest reminder of the place and family she'd left behind, but it was enough.

"You're allowed to like whatever you want," Marcus replied. His nose wrinkled. "But porridge is so… plain. It doesn't taste like anything."

She smiled, dipping her spoon in it and hefting it up so he could see. "That's why there's sugar on it, see?" She tilted it to show off the glistening, melting morsels on top.

He eyed it for a second before leaning forward and, to her shock, taking a bite of her breakfast that she hadn't exactly been offering. He chewed it for a moment and then swallowed.

He glanced at her ruefully. "All right," he admitted, "it does taste good with the sugar."

She smiled, feeling more pleased than the situation probably warranted that he enjoyed the food after all. Just a few months ago she had thought porridge was plain and dull-tasting, too. But that had been at home, where she ate breakfast in the rowdy company of her sisters, and her father, if he wasn't already off to work. Strangely, it had been one of the first things she'd wanted when she'd awoken to grand and strange surroundings. When her handmaidens had asked after what she would like to eat to break her fast that first morning, she'd meekly asked for porridge, if they had it, and maybe an egg or two. They had asked again and again if she'd wanted anything else, fish or ham or beef, but she always answered that porridge was enough. Even the eggs were a bit grandiose, though the servers had kept trying to push more on her. She hadn't wanted more to eat; she'd only ever wanted the porridge. It reminded her of home: of her sisters chattering and laughing as they ate, and of her father quietly going over the inventories and sums before he left for the day as absentmindedly stirring his food. It reminded her of her mother, who, even after all the years without her, still occupied an empty chair and a place of respect at the head of the table opposite of Father.

Alexandra was brought back to the present when her husband snatched something else from her tray—a few pieces of dried fruit from a small dish she was supposed to use to sprinkle over her boiled oats. She sipped at her tea, eyeing him beside her. He grinned before popping them into his mouth.

"You're a thief, you know," she informed him, setting down the cup and picking up her spoon again. "Stealing from your wife like that."

"I wouldn't call it stealing," he replied, piling his fork with eggs and fish from his own plate. "What's yours is mine and what's mine is yours. In truth, I'm stealing from myself, if I really am stealing at all."

Alexandra shook her head, "If you must make it as complicated as all that, then I might as well invite you to just take and not ask."

He tilted his head at her. "Why would I ever bother asking?"

Alexandra pressed her lips together so she wouldn't smile. She nodded towards her tray. "I know why you want my food. Yours is as dull as you perceive mine. You have three pieces of bread there. Bread." He also had fish and eggs, she noted, but she decided not to remark on those. She had to admit the fish looked rather good.

"_I_," he replied at once, as he slathered another piece with jam, "happen to like bread."

"Bread is plain, too," she reminded him, not stopping to wonder how she was bold enough to be able to tease him. It felt so good to talk like this, anyway—and with him, of all people. She didn't want to waste a second thinking on the matter.

He smirked. "Fine. Then we are both plain. Are you content now?"

Alexandra shook her head. "You are anything but plain," she replied at once. She clamped her mouth she the moment those words left her mouth. She had no idea where they'd come from, or why she thought they were appropriate to say.

But he simply smiled. "The same holds true for you," he returned to her astonishment.

Alexandra blushed, looking down so she could gather herself. What was he talking about? She was the plainest woman in the world. She could easily pass for a woman like Dorthea if she simply donned a less extravagant dress during the daytime. She was as plain as women came, but here he was telling her she was something more? Something better? She didn't believe him. She was nothing but the middle Grey daughter, less pretty than Meredith and less sociable than Laura, and therefore the least likeable on everyone's terms.

And yet, _somehow, _here she was: married to a man who seemed to enjoy her company and thrust so far above her social standing it made her head spin. Most days, it took all of her to simply get from dawn to dusk. She had no idea how to be the wife of someone so rich, someone so handsome, someone so tilted and brave and noble. She had no place beside men that looked and acted like gods, men like her husband. She wondered for the hundredth time how their marriage had ever occurred. She was still so painfully aware that she didn't belong, despite the shirking of her maiden name and her maidenhood, the ring on her finger, and the very real possibility that her husband's child might be taking root within her womb at this very moment.

Her throat constricted at the thought, and she struggled to swallow to clear her airway and her mind.

His child.

What would she do then, when she was finally pregnant? Though it should seem second nature to her, being a mother was—somehow—even less familiar to her than being a noblewoman, and the latter was completely unknown at best. It scared her—terrified her, really, when she stopped to think about it—how close to motherhood she could be at any one moment, especially after all the times last night (and this morning) they'd spent themselves in each other's bodies. During all their copulations last night, Alexandra had never had not once thought about the fact that they might be creating a child, that his seed might find a home within her each time it spurted from his manhood.

When they went to bed together—well, the few times they had done it so far—it had always been spontaneous and passionate. It left no time for thought or worry; it was always about releasing one's self for pleasure. Alexandra blinked. _For fun._ But that wasn't what it was supposed to be about, was it? They were supposed to be actively trying to make a son, not… not _having fun_. Just as her husband's occupation was to care for his land and all the people that lived on it, hers was to bear him a son, and then another, and then another. Enough boys to be able to carry on the family name as long and as far as possible; enough boys so that if one or more was lost, another could take its place and assume his father's duties.

Alexandra looked up, her eyes finding her husband across the room. He was pulling open drawers in a large wooden chest, putting on shirts and vests and pants over his underclothes. She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, but no words came. She wanted reassurance; she wanted him to tell her that she was a good wife, a fine wife, and that she would become pregnant in time. She wanted him to promise there was nothing to worry about and that he would take care of her.

Alexandra looked away, damning those thoughts as she set her breakfast tray to the side and drew her knees up to her chest. She made sure she sheet was still covering her bare body as she started at the remnants of their shared meal. She knew she wasn't a good wife or a fine wife; she wouldn't be either of those things or anything but a disappointment to him, his family, and her own until her stomach grew large and round and a baby boy's cries filled the house. There _were _things to worry about, and though he might take care of her, this worry was not something he could assure her would be rectified in due time.

She shut her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose to covertly blot the tears gathering in her lids.

"Are you all right?"

Alexandra tried not to jump when her husband's voice cut through the air, but she couldn't help it. She brought her hand from her nose immediately, smiling quickly as she looked over to him. "Yes. I'm very well, thank you."

He didn't leave it there. He stepped closer, examining her. "Does your head hurt? You can have them make you tea for—"

"No," Alexandra interrupted softly. "My head is fine."

He stared at her for a moment more, as if trying to decipher her thoughts by looking at her face. Alexandra hoped he wasn't able to read her mind at this moment in time, for all he would see was what a failure as a wife she was thus far. She was certain he already knew, but even so, she was not eager to remind him.

"Do you have things to do today?" She wondered, hoping to take his mind away from hers. She glanced at his dress, and discovered that it didn't seem to be anything particularly special. He might just be going for a walk on the grounds for the attire he was wearing. For a moment, her heart leapt. Maybe he had no plans. Maybe he was as eager to waste the day away in her company as he had been this morning. Maybe he _would_ want to go for a walk with her on the grounds. She pushed away the thoughts immediately. His dress didn't mean anything; he could dress however he liked. And just because they were friends between the sheets now, that familiarity did not necessarily transfer into the daytime and public sphere. _Maybe he doesn't want your companionship at all; have you ever thought of that?_ Alexandra wished she could say this was the first instance such a thought had entered her mind.

"I do have one thing to do today," he answered, curiously keeping eye contact with her as he spoke. Alexandra didn't look away, though the intensity of his gaze confused her. As did his answer. One thing? He was an important man, her husband; when did he ever only have _one _thing to do?

"Might I ask what that one thing is?" She queried softly, oddly eager to hear his plans now that they sounded so strange. He had never shared such with her before. Then again, they had never spoken this much before.

"Of course," he replied, a smile teasing on his lips. "Since it involves you, you are welcome to ask."

"Me?" Alexandra repeated whimsically, her mouth spreading in a happy smile. "Really?"

He snorted softly, bending down to put on his boots. "Don't sound so surprised."

Alexandra held back from asking what else she should sound like. Her husband just informed her that the only thing he had to do today involved her. For the first time in months, he was spending time with her. Was she supposed to treat this as an everyday occurrence and not a special treat? Was she supposed to sound bored? She didn't think she could fake that.

"So what is the one thing we will be doing together?" Alexandra asked, unconsciously leaning forward as he straightened back up. He was dressed now, and free to leave whenever he liked, but she didn't want him to go. She would keep him talking as long as possible if it meant he'd stay here with her for a little while longer. She wanted to reverse time, to go back to lying beside him in bed and smiling and just enjoying one another's company.

But, of course, time raced on. And, after a moment, her mind raced with it, trying to guess what they might do today. Again, her thoughts returned to walking, for it was one of the few activities they'd enjoyed together. Maybe they _would_ go for a walk, through the village or the countryside to meet some of the townsfolk she now presided over as his wife. A smile turned up her lips that she couldn't force away as she imagined it. He would no doubt have to introduce her to the many villagers, for she knew not one of their names. In doing so he would have to call her by her proper title, and refer to her as his wife, and just thinking of that had her basking in happiness. Her heart nearly burst when she realized the townsfolk would have nothing to call her besides Lady Sloan; her husband could not go about telling each and every one they met to call her "Lady Alexandra."

"I'd like to show you the castle," he told her. His words broke through her thoughts, and somehow the idea that he wanted to show her their home sounded even better than meeting the villagers. "And the grounds, too, if you would like."

"I would love that," Alexandra replied at once, breathless with enthusiasm. "That would be so wonderful."

He smirked slightly at her eagerness, but she didn't care if she seemed to be over excitable. She simply couldn't wait for this day to start. Already, her hand was itching to reach over and pull that bell, to be dressed and ready to spend the entire day with him.

Marcus smiled at the happiness on his wife's face, unable to determine if he was more smitten or amused. She was nineteen, and yet her emotions seemed to run away with her like a child's might sometimes. He crossed the room, and when he was close enough, he bent down to kiss her, lifting her face to his with a hand below her chin. He would've been lying if he said he didn't expect her to wrap her arms around him at once. When she didn't, in fact, he was slightly disappointed. His mind had been running wild with fantasies of her throwing away the covers, pressing her naked body against his, and drawing his cock out of his breeches so they could pleasure themselves again. But she did little more than lean into him. He could fell her shiver, though, when his tongue trailed along her lips and that—for the moment—was enough.

He pulled back, satisfied, at least, to know she'd enjoyed the kiss. He could still see that happiness sparking in her dark eyes; it was a sight he was certain he would never tire of. He rubbed her chin with his thumb, supporting it with his index finger. He wanted to kiss her again already. Instead, he forced his wanting into words, and told her, "Don't take too long to get ready, will you?"

Alexandra shook her head, promising she wouldn't. She breathed deeply, trying not to melt into his warm touch. She didn't think she would ever get tired of feeling him touch her—be chaste handholding or lascivious groping, it didn't matter. Every moment of every day, she wanted his hands on her. "I'll join you soon," she told him, already dreading the moment when his hand would leave her face and his body would leave the room.

He seemed just as reluctant to leave, her his thumb and forefinger were still touching her, rubbing her skin gently. "Ring the bell when you're ready to be dressed," he told, finally drawing his hand away and stepping back. "I'll be waiting for you downstairs."

Alexandra watched him go, holding herself in check all the while. The moment he left the room, however, she nearly shouted in happiness. She wrapped her arms around her naked self, let her mouth finally split in that enormous grin she'd been holding back, and fell sideways against the mattress, narrowly missing knocking over their breakfast trays. She buried her face in a nearby pillow, and her smile stretched so wide it was almost starting to hurt. She could not remember ever feeling so happy in her entire life, and certainly never from something so simple as a walk. She laid against the bed—his side, she realized with a momentary widening in her smile—and simply enjoyed the perfection of this single moment in her life. She then took a few deep breaths—happily inhaling the scent he'd left behind on his half of the mattress—and finally managed to right herself.

She was going to spend the entire day with her husband. That simple realization sent frenzied emotions whirling within her again. _He _wanted to spend the day with her. _He _wanted to walk with her, speak with her, enjoy her company.

And he was waiting—dare she think it? _Impatiently_—downstairs.

Remembering that, Alexandra reached over and pulled the string hard, realizing a moment too late that her enthusiasm to greet the day might've been a bit painful on the servant's ears three flights below. She was probably imagining it, but she could swear she heard the bell peal even up here, on the second floor. In the next moment, though, she didn't care. Only one wall and a set of stairs separated her from her husband, and even he had told her to hurry to meet him. Nothing would put a damper on her mood or ruin this day.

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_Author's Note: Reviews would be great appreciated. I had such fun writing this chapter, and I hope you guys had fun reading it. I will try to update as soon as I can!_


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